


Lady Luck

by JadeFlicker



Category: Toriko (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Cooking, Equals, F/M, Fake Names, Gourmet Mafia, Gourmet Yakuza, Jealousy, Known Fake Identity, Made-up Creatures, Made-up Ingredients, Organized Criminal Element, Romance, Slow Build, Tattoos, yes I went there
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-22
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2017-12-09 04:50:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/770166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadeFlicker/pseuds/JadeFlicker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She is called Kira. A cook, not a chef. And she finds that it's one thing to feel happy about making others happy and comfortable. It’s another to find other people that made you happy and comfortable.  To be fair, one rarely associates their happiness with the men of the Gourmet Yakuza.</p><p>Still sticks to canon, but really, Match needs more love. So this is my take of all the things that happen in the background or in between.</p><p>(IN THE PROCESS OF RE-EDITING)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Am Called Kira

**Author's Note:**

> My first fanfiction on AO3! Whoop~!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Toriko and Komatsu take on the Gourmet Age and travel on adventures, in the Criminal Capital known as the city of Nerg...

Food Luck.

It is what defines the Gourmet Age.

But what is luck really?

Is it happiness?

Is it fortune?

Is it love?

Or is it a creature all of its own?

Its own creature separate from all the things people associate with luck?

And most importantly…

What kind of person must you be…

What must you do?

To attain the greatest of luck?

-

-

-

“Nee-sama!”

“Just a minute!”

Huffing softly to herself in exasperation, a dark-haired woman quickly finished dicing an onion—yes, just a regular old onion—before deftly picking up the board and tilting it into the nearby pot. Running her knife along the board to scrap the stubborn stray pieces into the boiling water, she grunted as she set the board down and wipe the blade with a rag. Kissing the hilt lightly, the woman murmured her thanks to the knife before slipping it into a sheath strapped to her upper thigh. By the time the stew would be done, it would be dinnertime and she would already be back and ready to dish it out.

With a practiced motion, scarred fingers selected a paring knife from a holster on her upper left arm as she walked over to a bare looking cupboard. Opening the badly tilting door, she stuck the paring knife into the edge of the backboard and levied the fake back off. Pulling a cloth covered basket out of the hidden compartment, the woman tucked the container under a bare arm before placing the wooden board back in place. Thanking the small blade in a similar manner she had with the other knife and checking everything over one last time, making sure the Fire Marimos were properly secured inside the stove and putting a lid on the stewpot. Usually, the lady didn’t like keeping things burning when she wasn’t in the kitchen. In fact, she hated it. It was just one of those things that simply wasn’t done as a chef.

But she wasn’t a chef, she reminded herself. Not anymore.

Besides, the delivery had to be made. The harvesting of the vegetables had taken longer than usual, therefore the cooking preparations were late as well. If she wanted to make deadlines, she had to compromise. She’d built her little kitchen to be hard to burn anyways. Dirt and slanted slabs of concrete debris can only burn so much after all.

Hurrying out, the woman briskly greeted the young man with shaggy brown hair who had called out to her earlier. He himself was fitted out in a tuxedo and wore a pair of dark sunglasses. If that wasn’t conspicuous enough, his stiff, attentive stance was enough to tell even the most casual of observers that he was here on business with the woman who more or less lived in a hut.

Reluctantly, she allowed him to help her put on the heavy, black duster coat she usually kept hanging on a hook on the back of the door. Shifting the wide-brimmed basket to her other arm, she barred the door and checked the one heavily barred window nearby.

“Okay, let’s go,” she announced busily as she ran a hand through her hair. Upon closer inspection, her hair was black with some dark, dark shade of purple undertones. Yet, red streaks were prominent, twisting in and out in an almost uneven mess. The dark maroon was not as obvious as it once been, but it was clear that this woman had once had her hair dyed in a rush. “Shin, you realize you needn’t escort me every week during my deliveries. It’s understandable if I had a bigger haul, but I wouldn’t be able to get so much in a week’s time.”

Shin simply shrugged, following slightly behind her passively in comparison to her brisk, almost aggressive walk. “Tell that to Vice-Boss then. These are his orders, Nee-sama.”

‘Nee-sama’ snorted again before grunting, “I will. His subordinates must have better things to do than escort a single woman from one corner of the city to another. For all his being a Vice-Boss, he doesn’t seem able to delegate his minions efficiently.” A quiet cough caused a cool glare to be thrown in Shin’s direction. “Yes, you are a minion. What’s so funny? You think I won’t tell him so to his face?”

“No, I know you will, Nee-sama. Just as you do every week,” The young yakuza member remarked innocently. Cheeky brat that he was. Pointedly avoiding the deadpan, narrowed gaze, he continued, “With all due respect, Vice-Boss is only worried about you. With the narcotic ingredients you gather and ferry, as well your willingness to work with us, you are a precious ally and asset. Vice-Boss just wants to make sure nothing happens if he can help it.”

“I can take care of myself,” was the responding huff. “I made due just fine in this city before I was bought into the Gourmet Yakuza’s attentions. I’m not having my capabilities questioned now.”

“Of course, Nee-sama,” he allowed agreeably. But his focus had shifted to a passing individual. Although the oily man gave them a wide berth, that did not stop him from eyeing the female skin not covered by the worn duster. Since she only wore a tube top, scandalously short denim shorts, and a pair of ankle tall boots, it gave lecher a good eyeful of her bare legs, stomach, neck, and breasts. At times like these, Shin really wished that ‘Nee-sama’ would dress a bit more conservatively, if only so he wouldn’t have to deal with his impulsive desires to kick out a pervert’s teeth as often. A slight shift in the lecher’s direction on Shin’s part revealed the outline of a gun against his jacket, and just like that, the man disappeared. “But none of us mind escorting you. I’m happy when it’s my turn to walk you to HQ and back, so please don’t be too hard on Vice-Boss.”

All he got in reply was a rather cranky sounding ‘hmph’, but it was enough to make him smile.

-

-

-

Nerg City was not the most livable of places.

Certainly, it didn’t hold the same merit or the same level of danger as designated danger zones within the Human World. And of course, it would seem like nothing compared to anyplace in the Gourmet World and its extreme weather patterns and beasts. But it still wasn’t the most livable of places. It had its own dangers and an atmosphere of utter human despair and desperation. In Nerg City, the criminal capital, anyone or anything that lived there lived it while being involved in crime. If you didn’t, you starved and perished away to dust. The Gourmet Yakuza tried, but they had their own problems.

Or at least, that was it for the most part until a mysterious woman appeared one day in the rotting corpse that was Nerg city. Despite her appearance, she was a chef who insisted she was a cook. Designating a little area as hers, she set up a single, one-roomed hut that consisted entirely of a kitchen. What little clothes she had and the tools she scavenged were all worn, and only her blades and eyes shone with a commanding steel. The ingredients she used were nothing special, quite literally. This woman grew her own vegetables, all which were so ordinary that were abnormal. At the peak of the Gourmet Age, it was strange to see someone use plain onions and carrots and celery. It certainly kept people from stealing said vegetables. There was simply no worth in such plain vegetables, if at this time they could be considered vegetables at all. Who would want to try to steal a regular, stunted onion when they could spend the effort to steal an Onion Banana, a Motor Onion, or the variety of more delicious veggies? She certainly made it so that it just wasn’t worth stealing when so many other options were available. The way she always seemed to know when someone approached her space was just unsettling.

But this did not matter to the nearby starving, and said group consisting mostly of children. Children and their families who were perishing in the dust because they didn’t involve themselves in crime. Couldn’t, because what criminal organization would take on a lot of starving urchins?

And it was these urchins that she took up feeding. Her time and days seemed to be spent whipping up the next meal of the day to dish out to the ragged line that would appear at her lone window twice a day, every day, weeklong. Although said group thought the lady scary and intimidating, giving no quarter and offering no outright comfort, she never turned them away and never ignored them. When they got in trouble or scared, they could seek shelter with her and her blade-like gaze would be cast at whomever they were having trouble with. She could not give them all the nutrition they needed, but she made sure they got two square meals a day when they came around her hut.

For the kids and abandoned families, the scary lady made Nerg City just a little more livable and made them feel a little more stable. 

Of course, with the attention of the city orphans also brought the attention of the Gourmet Yakuza. And it wasn’t long before the mysterious lady and the criminal organization of the Gourmet World met.

-

-

-

Said mysterious lady whistled in appreciation at the large, intimidating structure that was the Gourmet Yakuza Main House. Here was some of the biggest names in crime, and it showed in the plain, but solid, and LARGE entrance. It was thanks to the power, prestige, and reputation of said Yakuza that allowed her to leave her hut-for-a-home so casually. There was very few who were willing to mess with something stamped with the insignia of the group, marking it as part of their territory. More than once did she find herself tracing the mark on her door, not quite believing that she somehow found herself under the protection of criminals.

Not that it was unappreciated, however grudging the appreciation was.

Upon seeing them, watchmen in tuxedoes and shades similar to Shin’s immediately opened the gate to allow the pair in without them having to break their stride. It was only after they passed two more gates and more groups of men in black did they reach the heart of the complex. There, they were met by a heavily scarred man with a shock of blonde hair. In opposition to the black ensemble worn by the surrounding men, he wore a very clean cut white suit over a high-collared purple shirt. But what truly separated him from the crowd weren’t the clothes, but the air of easy confidence he seemed to exude.

It was in front of this man that they stopped in front of. And the woman was the first to speak.

“Match.”

“Kira.”

The woman, Kira, acknowledged the greeting, “How’s Boss Ryuu?”

“Healthy as ever,” Match replied casually with a nod. “Boss had to leave for some business this morning. Sends his regards.”

“I will thank him when he returns,” she replied graciously. 

The corner of Match’s lips lifted as he held out a bent arm, “Well, shall we?”

Kira took the offered arm in a delicate, almost dainty, gesture that just barely approached theatrically mocking. “Let’s.”

Shin watched as they both disappeared into the main house. Then he could finally let the smile crack out across his face. His thoughts were interrupted by call from Louie to take a look at the newly delivered ice guns. Successfully distracted, he hurried along in the most dignified manner he could, as befitting a member of the Gourmet Yakuza. Never mind that he was giddy, because of course he wasn’t giddy. Members of the Gourmet Yakuza didn’t do giddy. Not for new ice guns, the trip, nor the fact that it always made him just a bit excited when he saw Vice-Boss and Nee-sama together because it was nice to see the hard-working people he looked up to relaxing.

Nope. Not at all.

He did, however, wonder how Vice-Boss was going to tell Kira about their trip.

-

-

-

“Mmm. Is that Cinnamomile Tea I smell?”

“Yep. Fresh stock today too. Never had it before myself, but hey. We eat, we learn.”

“I think you’ll like, Match. It’s one of nature’s simpler masterpieces. Smell that. Isn’t the Cinnamomile leaves’ scent of apple and cinnamon simply divine? It’s a timeless, aromatic combination.”

Match chuckled as he allowed the tea’s aroma to waft and fill him before taking a sip. It was a delicious, whimsical, yet earthily comforting flavor. As had become a little tradition between them since these little meetings begun, Match and Kira sat across from each other at a low table, steaming teacups placed before each of them. The basket Kira had bought in with her had already been taken away so that the contents could be properly disposed of. She would have the basket back by the time she would leave. For now, they conversed with the air of two old, old, familiar friends. One could hardly believe that they’d only known each other for a year and a half. And even then, they’d met only a few handful of times.

Match himself could remember meeting her for the first time in precise detail, mostly because simply how bizarre she seemed to him. From what he had gathered before that first meeting, the woman had set up a soup kitchen of all things. In NERG. An idea Match himself had contemplated many times given a chance, but not even the Gourmet Yakuza had the time, money, or manpower to get a system going. And besides the Gourmet Yakuza, precious few others cared for the starving children in the Criminal Capital. To hear someone—a lone woman all by herself of all people—set up and maintain even a small kitchen all by herself with no backing of a group or organization…

Preposterous.

Meeting her in person was even stranger. Back then, her hair was nearly entirely maroon; though even by then, her roots had already been starting to show. Honestly rather plain, she had a rather out of place honest face and a suntanned complex. The three things that threw him off was her snapping, round eyes, her audacious authority, and the sheer amount of tattoos she had. A cat tattoo that faintly reminded him of a leopard wrapped around her shoulders, back and torso with its tail wrapping around one leg. Her legs seemed to simply swarm with a myriad of inked rats, lizards, and mice and two bats were drawn under one shoulder without interfering with the inked cat. These tattoos paired with the overly-familiar way she handled her kitchen knives honestly made a rather intimidating picture. 

It also helped Match understand why other criminals hadn’t already run the soup kitchen into the ground. 

The resulting growth she was able to coax from the ground was also something rather miraculous. It was also proof that she made due and was entirely self-supportive and independent. 

But even the independent could use some help.

“By the way, the Troublesome Trio say hi. Apparently, they actually got past the First Wall this time before getting caught. They won’t say where, but I think they got through right over where the break station is.”

Match chuckled at that. Said three orphaned rascals (who reminded Match vaguely of Shin, Ram, and Louie at a younger age) had made a game of trying to break into the Yakuza Compound after getting more comfortable with Match. The few times they had found a way in, Match made sure to patch up that security breach. And while he really should discourage, he found that he just didn’t have the heart to. “I’ll have it looked into then.”

Kira nodded and chuckled under her breath before switching subjects. “Meanwhile,” cue a quirked eyebrow. “Must I be escorted from my home and back every time I make these trips? There must be something else you can put your men to work on.”

An old argument that they never have and probably never will settle.

She was surprisingly accepting of the help the Yakuza offered, but still only accepted little bits and pieces of their charity. Their first meeting—bless his Food Luck he had stumbled at that moment or the introductions wouldn’t have gone nearly as well with a knife through his throat—had left him with the impression that she was a prideful individual. 

And Match wasn’t wrong, but Kira would be the first to admit that she was essentially running a threadbare charity, all the while warning him to expect nothing back from her. Charity was acceptable as long as it was for her “clients”. But she would not become a lackey for the Yakuza, and promised vicious retaliation should any move be made against her flock. Things had certainly gotten easier and more relaxed over time. It took only a bit of seeing how much the members of the Gourmet Yakuza truly cared about the kids of Nerg for Kira to be more willing to accept a bit more of their goodwill as well as the individual friendship of some of the members. And things had progressed from there, with Match essentially the main ambassador between the Yakuza and the soup Kitchen dubbed the Kitchen.  
Further encounters had served to reassure her of their good intentions. Wary meetings had given way to careful acquaintanceship. The final straw had been when Match was bought back after that business with Heavenly King Zebra, and Kira appeared on their doorstep with all the briskness and no-shit-accepted attitude of someone use to regularly dealing with difficult patience. Yeah, after practically living in each other’s pocket as an exasperated attendant and helpless patient, a comradery was bound to be formed.

“Match, is something bothering you? You’ve been spacing off during the last few times we’ve been meeting up.”

“Hmmm. Sorry. A lot’s been going on lately, that’s all.”

Now, they were able to sit and drink tea and converse civilly in a great deal more fondness than they did years ago. Most of the maroon in her hair had faded from the last time she had dyed it, something she did occasionally when something spooked her or made her shifty. It was one of those things mutually agreed to be left unsaid. Only the ends of her swept-back shoulder length locks still hinted at another color beyond the naturally dark, black-purple-sheen hair. She looked at him with open concern in her eyes, those dark eyes no longer as guarded and suspicious of him as they once were. He now knew that the cat tattoo that stood out starkly against her skin was an Ashera cat and that the ink on her skin help hide a liberal peppering of scars. Match had laughed with her as she sheepishly admitted the scar that ran parallel over one eyebrow was from her getting cocky with a paring knife and a rather funny incident involving a saucepan, an excitable friend, fire, lemons, and several mushrooms. They now met once every two weeks to converse as well as for her to drop off items Kira had…confiscated from drug dealers she found preying upon her ever growing list of “clients”. It was something she had always done, but now she bought those narcotics to Match to dispose of.

It wasn’t much, but it was a sign how much she trusted them and trusted Match. Certainly, it caused a rising warmth fill his chest to know that she trusted them to take care of the poison that threatened her carefully guarded flock. Another result from the time Kira had spent tending his broken bones and filleted skin was how much he tended to confide in her. Nothing really about the affairs of the family as much as his personal dilemmas and thoughts about decisions and happenings. She wasn’t one to take shit and he could trust her to be equal parts scathingly blunt and refreshingly, analytically critical, yet to-the-point. And in his defense, she was a good listener, knew how to keep her mouth shut, and gave pretty damn good advice.

Maybe it was because she was an outsider that he told her more than he had told anyone else. He was the Vice-Boss of the Gourmet Yakuza after all; family came first and personal affairs second. To anybody else, he couldn’t afford to anything other than strength and decisiveness. 

She was his friend, a friend to his subordinates, and a guardian to the kids of Nerg who he treasured. Stoutly loyal, frustratingly stubborn, and intensely focused. A brisk caretaker who was both intimidating yet gently, and naturally, fiercely protective with a habit of jumping down your throat if she thought you were doing something idiotic.

Which is why telling her about his upcoming trip was a bit difficult.

“Things have been pretty slow lately. So I thought I’d take this chance to go on a trip. Thinking about bring back something for the kids.”

“Any ingredient in particular?”

Kira had presented that question curiously in an off-handed manner, part of the natural flow of their conversation. So that brief hesitation, that pause, caught her attention and made her eyes narrow as she took in the man sitting across from her. Said man was taking a large draught of his tea, finishing his cp.

“Have you heard of the Century Soup?” Match asked.

The tattooed woman perked up in interest at that despite herself. “The phantom soup that’s said to only appears once every century. It’s said to be a soup that consists mainly of ingredients that only the ancient gourmets would be to get their hands on, ingredients that no longer exist.”

Match made a low noise in ingredient. “I’m heading over to Bar Heavy Lodge with Shin, Louie, and Ram in two days. Apparently, someone knows the location of the Soup, and is putting out the beacon. Some wealthy guy who’s paying a hefty sum to whoever successfully retrieves the soup, I think. We’re gonna see if we can get to that Soup before anybody else and bring some back for the kids.”

“Match…” Kira murmured, a combination of touched, empathetic, and horrified that didn’t show on her face other than the slight widening of her eyes. “To call that many bishokuyas together…that would mean that the ingredient’s probably in a designated danger zone.”

“I know.”

Kira shot up onto her knees at this point. “You can’t!” she hissed, her eyes narrowed back into dark slits. “Match, it’s only been 13 months! Barely over a year and even less since you made a full recovery!”

“I’m alive in the end though,” he shrugged, setting his cup done with a click.

“You vexing man! One does not simply face a rampaging Heavenly King, survive, and then go gallivanting off to an environment that will most certainly kill you after only 13 months of recovery!” her voice was tight and rose a pitch at the end, but her volume remained steady. “Politely speaking, are you out of your fucking mind or just looking to go down in a blaze of glory?”

“Neither,” Match barely suppressed an eye roll. The Vice-Boss of the Gourmet Yakuza is a dignified figure. He does not roll his eyes at sarcastic, overly-tattooed women. No matter how aggravating they were being. “This isn’t the first time we’ve gone to get something nice for the kids. This isn’t all that different.”

A raised dark eyebrow answered that all those ingredients of late had been mostly from special shipments and secret deals. Not all of them legal. And none of them were particularly life-threatening in the way designated danger zones tended to be. “Do you even know who this informant is?”

Match didn’t repress the slight wince this time around, “No.”

The woman had been poking and implying that their information network really wasn’t up to snuff for a while now. He had assured her otherwise, but the recent result of a supposedly simple search was proving in favor of Kira’s opinions. This particular informant seem to have a great deal of influence themselves. Match let his eyelids slide close as he exhaled through his nose. When he opened his eyes again, his facial features softened to see the woman across from him with an actually visible worried expression on her face. Given, it was only a small frown and the slight upturn of her brows, but it was more than what she usually showed so it spoke volumes.

“Look,” Match sighed, his voice may have been a touch more gentle. Maybe. “I’ll be going with Louie, Shin, and Ram. We’ll be gone for a few days. A week at most. Our information network indicate the informant is probably very wealthy, so they’ll probably transport us there too.”

The expression on Kira’s face made it seem like she was literally chewing on this bit of information, letting a gearing silence fall and rest between them. Finally, she sighed, “Fine. It’s not like I have a say anyways. I’ll tell the kids you’ve gone on an adventure and to expect something special when you get back.”

Match nodded, content. “Thanks.”

“Just…” a pregnant pause. He couldn’t help but watch with an edge of amusement as she seemed to struggle with what she wanted to say, a frustrated crinkle over her brow. This unsure side showed rarely so he was going to enjoy it while he could. In the end, she just sighed in what felt to be a heartfelt combination of exhausted resignation, frustration, and exasperation before resting her forehead in one hand. “Call in your puppy triplets later would you? I’m going back to the Kitchen to dish out tonight’s dinner, and I’ll back afterwards to make a late dinner for you four. When I get back, I expect all you of you to be properly seated. Do I make myself clear?!”

His lips quirked up at the not-question, and Match’s smirked grew at her glare. “What? You’re making us a well-wishing, good luck meal before we go?”

“Something like that,” she grumbled before draining the rest of her tea as if she were downing beer.

-

-

-

Kira stared at the Gourmet ingredients that she had set before herself. She hadn’t let herself touch any gourmet ingredients for a long time now. Besides narcotics and drugs, she had stuck with painfully “ordinary” ingredients. Impressive considering that Nerg hosted an extensive black market that circulated all kinds of ingredients, even the ones not ordinarily on the open market. In this actual kitchen, instead of plain milk from a stringy cow outside of Nerg, she was using milk from Milk Fruits. Instead of chicken breasts from feathery farm chickens; she was using chicken breasts from a Breaded Chicken, with skin so thick and crispy when cooked it was like it was already breaded. Even for breading (to make it a crunchy instead of a crispy skin), instead of normal peanuts she was using…

Her eyes flickered to the small matchboxes that sat innocently above the chopping board. 

She was using those.

The only ingredients she had brought with her when she had fled and exiled herself to Nerg. Ran away and hid in the shadows of a deprecated city like some cowardly, beaten animal.

The kitchen was empty, the chefs having already retired. So she had her privacy and no one to peer curiously at her unusual hesitation or her shaking hands. Heart pounding, she picked up one box and flicked open the lid to peer at the contents. And just like that, the tension slid out of her body like water off oilskin and her hands steadied. Touching the small treasures inside, warmth and love filled her body and she let it. When she was finally able to take her eyes off the little spheres in the box, she was able to look at the rest of her ingredients in a loving light. 

Because those little treasure reminded her of what she had suppressed, and stirred those embers in her heart just kept barely lit by the mundane ingredients she had constricted herself to. Those ordinary ingredients with their tired, sad, and too-soft voices. She didn’t want to admit it, even to herself, but their lack of voice had been wearing on her for a long time now.

But these ingredients…Kira ran her fingers over the large hunk of meat, one knife already in hand as a content look settle on her face. She loved all food. Even those narcotics that she herself would never eat or feed to anyone else and those ordinary ingredients. She loved those little herbs she had to nourish and coax from the ground with an almost frightening degree of persistence. Loved the milk and beef that came from the cow to the point it sometimes hurt.

But her true heart would always be reserved for these kinds of ingredients. Gourmet ingredients that had the power to truly create and make memories and to bring people together. In this Gourmet Age, what truly defined it was the happiness of the moments, the delight in the food people could find together. These ingredients she would always cherish the most in her most secret of hearts.

The ingredients that surrounded the woman seemed to almost glitter and shine, as if basking and responding to the dark-haired cook’s attentions and love.

Feeling more empowered and relieved than she had in a long time, Kira set to work.

-

-

-

Match was simply watching and smirking in amusement as Ram, Louie and Shin joked around, now more relaxed as they were technically as off duty as they’d ever get. It was in the middle of Ram’s retelling of a long-ago heist when they were orphans when Kira bought in four trays balanced expertly in her arms. As soon as she entered, a mouthwatering smell wafted into the room, light and appetizing with enough spices to make it satisfying. Match would be hard-pressed to admit it, but in that moment, you could have knocked him over with a feather. The other also fell silent, and all eyes were laser-focused on the trays being set before them.

As her arms reached around to place a tray before him, Match distantly noted how he’d always thought it was strange that Kira’s arms and hands were starkly bare of tattoos. Just bare and clean and tan with their fair share of raised scars.

What was placed before them looked just as mouthwatering as it smelled.

“Honeanut-crusted Breaded Chicken breasts,” she announced as she put down the last place in front of Louie, “With Two-Ended Veggie Stalks. I used one side cucumber and one side asparagus. The accompany sauce is a combination of mustard from a Mustard Flower, Tenpaclove, and various other spices. Enjoy.”

The first bite was….heavenly. By itself, the chicken had flaky layers of thick, crispy skin that paired well with flavorful, juicy glistening meat. The Honeanut (Match hadn’t realized they had that ingredient in their kitchen), weighed down the crispy skin and added another layer of texture as well as a soothing sweetness to the liberal layering of spices rubbed into the meat. Match didn’t know what technique she used, but she proportioned everything just enough so that there was enough meat to match the layers, and just enough of the skin and Honeanut crumbs to make it prominent but still easy to bite into with a satisfying vigor. Additionally, the accompanying vegetable were a nice touch, both parts different kinds of fresh in the way only vegetables could be.

Together, the curling flavors and textures and weight skillfully woven together was something he could feel going down, lighting up his insides. Satisfying and light in a way that he thought good wishes might feel like. Match had always know that Kira could cook. To make something out of practically nothing in the way she did every day needed a certain kind of resourcefulness and the intimate knowledge of a professional. He knew she was a chef before she came to Nerg and insisted that she was now a cook, something later talks revealed to be even more differentiating than he had first thought. The second bite was just as good. And the third—he looked at his happily-exclaiming subordinates and the crinkling lines that had appeared in the corners of Kira’s eyes—was even better.

“How do you like it?”

Match….Match gave her a small, genuine smile. Not that slight smirk, but the same quirk of the lips and a softer look in his eyes.

“It’s delicious. Thank you.”

It was a small grin. But the way that small, brief, childishly open smile lit up her entire face would stick in Match’s mind for a long time.

-

-

-

It was only after she was safe in the privacy of her locked Kitchen that Kira let herself go.

After closing and locking the door, having bid Ram goodbye and watching him disappear into the night, she leaned back against the sturdy door before letting herself slide down onto the ground. 

Having come to the Criminal-Producing Factory of the world, she hadn’t expected to be happy. Happy like this at least. It was one thing to feel happy about making others happy and comfortable. It’s another to find other people that make you happy and comfortable. Though watching her—when they becomes hers?—boys so thoroughly enjoy her cooking was gratifying in a way she couldn’t feel while feeding the orphaned starving kids. It was just two different situations. There was a difference between enjoying a good meal for the sake of it and shoveling down food because you were starving, unsure when the next meal would be available.

And to be able to cook like that again…

Sighing she rested her forehead on her bent knees, rocking back and forth.

It was okay. It was only a one-time thing. They didn’t know after all. And as long as they didn’t know, things would work out fine. It would be better than fine.

They would come back safely. And she would have her walks and listen to the jokes and funny stories from Ram, Louie, and Shin. And drink tea with Match. And have their quiet conversations and share in their small jokes and continue their endless argument of “Kira-doesn’t-need-to-be-escorted”.

Yes.

She would just have to be patient.

-

-

-

Food Luck.

It is what defines the Gourmet Age.

But what is luck really?

Is it happiness?

Is it fortune?

Is it love?

Or is it a creature all of its own?

Its own creature separate from all the things people associate with luck?

And most importantly…

What kind of person must you be…

What must you do?

To attain the greatest of luck?

My luck killed people.

If I’m not careful, my luck will kill more people.

I am called Kira.

I love food.

I hate my luck.

And somehow

I now find that I really care about these boys in the Gourmet Yakuza.

So please. 

If nothing else.

Let this stupid luck of mine make sure they come back safe.


	2. Century Soup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The return and then the completion of the Century Soup 6 months later.

"Come'n, Lala! Don't you want your dollie back?"

"S-stupid Ronnie! Give it!"

A little girl with short, dirty blonde hair ran after a grinning boy that was waving a dirty, threadbare rag doll around over his head. Gritting her teeth, she pumped her thin, dirty arms harder as she willed her bare legs to go faster. But it was fruitless. The boy older than her by two years, bigger, faster, and kept a tauntingly short distance ahead of her while running BACKWARDS.

Boys were stupid.

And she would never admit that she was this close to crying.

Ronnie would just laugh at her even more if she did anyways, and then continue his teasing.

"R-Ronnie!"

"Ah, is the wittle crybaby gonna 'ive us some waterworks?"

The doll was suddenly plucked from the boy's hands, which caused Ronnie to come to a skidding halt to look at his suddenly empty hands. Spinning around, his stunned expression quickly morphed into a more sheepish, grumpy, and slightly guilty look. Crossing his arms, he scuffed a bare foot against the dirt ground, raising a small dusty cloud. Looking down at him from a few feet away was Kira with a single raised eyebrow and a bland look on her face. Behind her, peeking out from behind her legs, were two other boys with somewhat similar sheepish, pitying expressions. Both were given Ronnie's most scathing and accusing of glares.

"Traitors," he hissed under his breath as Lala finally caught up, huffing and smiling brightly.

"Yes, well," Kira drawled flatly. "If they are traitors, what does that make a bully like you?"

Ronnie flushed red at this as he watched a huffing Lala trail over to Kira through long, unruly bangs. His pout deepened a little as a large and admiring smile lit up the little girl's dirty, round face to match large, sparkling dark eyes. He understood her feelings of admiration perfectly; Ronnie really looked up to the woman himself. That admiration didn't stop the dark feelings from bubbling up in his chest like dark, hot tar.

"I'm 'ot a bully," he muttered harshly.

"Then don't act like one," was the blunt reply in a bland, almost uncaring voice. The owner of said voice dropped the doll back into small, eager hands. "It's idiotic, and not the way to go about getting the attention of the girl you like."

The corners of Kira's mouth quirked as Ronnie, the most impulsive of Troublesome Trio, let loose a rain of colorful curses at her coupled with and a great deal of stuttering. Her lack of anything other than faint amusement caused Ronnie to turn even redder in humiliation before spinning around and streaking off. Snorting, Kira looked down to the two boys staring at the black-haired boy running away.

"You better go after him," she commented drily to the mops of blonde and brown who were already inching around from behind her legs. The children of Nerg were so underfed and malnourished; sometimes, it still shocked Kira that 12 to 14 year old boys could be so short. Especially considering the fact she herself wasn't that tall to begin with, so short to the Kitchen's cook was truly SHORT. "You know how he gets. Make sure he isn't mugged while running around like a headless chicken."

The two boys nodded to her solemnly before quickly taking off after their friend. And Kira watched them leave, letting herself believe—even if only for a moment—that they were really just children, running off after a friend who had left in a pout.

But she knew at heart that there were no "real" children in Nerg. Any of the children who lived was a little old man or woman in a child's body. Or damaged. They all knew the realities of their world at its worst and its cruelties. In the wild, creatures and plants did what their nature had them do. In the deprecated city of Nerg, filled with people who could make their own choices, life was cruel and the gray city was dead. There was no mercy in this place.

So to be able to see children playing lifted her heart, even if she had to stop it.

Bullying was bullying, she would not condone it if she had any say in it.

Distracted by these sobering thoughts, she almost didn't feel the gentle tugging on her hand. Looking down, her half-lidded gaze met a pair of large, dark eyes. Blinking in momentary confusion, Kira scooped up the little girl so she didn't have to crane her neck in a way that was uncomfortable. If they Troublesome Trio were short, Lala was a height that was painful to look at. Literally. It was easier just to hoist the girl onto her hip to talk to. Acacia forbid, the little girl was light enough that doing so was an easy task.

"What is it?" she inquired quietly, in a tone that was a touch softer than the tone she used on the boys.

"The w-weeds and chores now?" Lala chirped happily with a wide smile.

Huffing in amusement, Kira nodded in agreement as she started walking back towards her sorry hut; the one roomed space she slept, ate, and cooked in. "Yes, thank you for the help. Let's get it done before I start cooking for the dinner shift."

Arriving outside the Kitchen, she walked into the large square of cleared dirt where she grew her meager vegetables. Recently, she had even managed to acquire a stunted apple tree. Said tree was placed on one corner of the patch of overturned, gray soil. Little bits of green grew in neat lines, each plant an equal portion of green and dead or dying brown. It was a tired effort she had coaxed from the ground, but even the dull green was a relief from the browns, grays, and black of the city and she still loved every plant she tended as well as the earth they grew in.

Honestly, what she managed to cultivate wasn't enough and she still had to pick up shipments from a run-down farm that still sold regular fruits, vegetables, and meat. But it was more manageable now, and she didn't have to tap into her accounts as often nor for as much money as before. A good thing too. Wiring cash from her formal life to supply for a new life didn't sit well with Kira, not to mention a tedious and risky task.

Putting Lala down, she set the little girl's rag doll on a rock on the edge of the patch under the stumpy apple tree before stooping down to start pulling weeds that choked or would choke the vegetables or tubers. With efficient movements, she gently or quickly tugged the rough weeds out. Like everything else in Nerg, the weeds were their own brand of tough. Lala copied her in her movements, if a little more clumsily. Said weeds went into a compost pile sitting on the corner of Kira's hut for later use.

Weeding, checking each plant, watering (which required them to physically haul water from a nearby crudely dug well ), and a number of other backbreaking chores was strenuous, but it didn't take a genius to do it. Soon, Kira found her mind drifting off as she went through the mundane chores.

It wasn't reasonable, but she did like her work. However mundane, repetitive or tiresome the task, she was spurred on by the fact that every plant (even the weeds) fought their hardest to live. Live and give their life to her people so they in turn could live. It wasn't their fault their voices were exhausted by the time they reached her kitchen. They simply weren't as hardy as Gourmet ingredients, and couldn't make due with such poor soil. Every day was a fight to stay alive, every day was a fight to keep them alive.

She was just so thankful they fought to live, admirably and persistently.

So this had happened every day since she had come to Nerg. One might think it was uncharacteristic that someone so stoic felt such a strong emotion, but it was the one thing from her old life that Kira could not let go of. It was her constant; this thankfulness, this love, this devotion. And as her constant, this task of working while filled with content and thankfulness became something of meditation for her. It relaxed something coiled tightly in her, this obsessed devotion that soothed her heart, stomach, and mind. It filled her body as if she were a cup, and it had poured smoothly into her like water from a pitcher. Always.

She just didn't feel like herself if she didn't do it.

But despite how thankful she was, on this day, other thoughts seemed to be mixed in mistily. It didn't distract her much, but it—this worry—stuck to her determinedly.

It had been two weeks since Match, Shin, Louie, and Ram had left. She got information that the man who had put out the information about the Century Soup was none other than Colonel Mokkoi, and that the location of said soup was the one and only Ice Hell. Match and the other three had gone with the first group with none other than Heavenly King Toriko, who had made quite the impression on her informant. Apparently, the Glutton of the Heavenly Kings had destroyed a falling chunk of ice bigger than the tanker of a ship they were riding on all by himself, saving all the passengers in the process. And that was all the information she could get.

Despite that, unease still filled her chest at the thought of a Heavenly King on the same ship as the Gourmet Yakuza Vice-Boss.

After all, Match had only just fully recovered from his bout with the Heavenly King Zebra, and had come away from that battle with scars covering him from head to foot.

It had been two weeks since then, and the even the members of the Gourmet Yakuza had started to voice their unease. Some were even starting to talk about going to Ice Hell themselves, as Boss Ryuu refused to so much as acknowledge that her boys could have perished among the blizzards and storms of Hell's environment.

Her boys.

There was a slight stutter in Kira's movements (a pause, a little jerk in her hands before she moved on to inspect the leaves of the next plant) as she realized her own thought process.

Kira had a good relationship with the members of the Gourmet Yakuza's Main House. But Shin, Louie, and Ram were different. Match was different. Shin, Louie, and Ram were the Troublesome Trio, but older. She fed them, and them having been former Nerg urchins, accepted her cooking even though they could now afford to eat much better than her dishes made from plain ingredients. They would do heavy lifting for her and always told her that her cooking was the best, though she never believed them. How could they say that when they were always eating her threadbare food? Out of all the members she ended up interacting with, those three were special. Among all black-suits, they were the most eager to help, most eager to please, and the most eager to protect. It was cute, and added to her habit of overlapping their image with the image of three orphan boys she took particular care of.

And Match…

Match was pride and stubbornness and a quiet firmness and a steady gaze. He was quirked smirks and steaming cups of tea and a soft, warm look to those less fortunate than him. That man had never demand that she trust him. No, a man of action, he had soothed her suspicions and paranoia with steady, slow actions. As if she were a bristling cat.

Chuckling to herself, Kira brushed her fingers of the head of her Ashera tattoo as she stood up to go get more water.

The blonde Vice-Boss was her friend. An equal who at least understood her want to help and supported her. Such steady support and unwavering faith in her ability to support the cause was not something to be spat on. He wanted the same things she did, and was persistent enough to get his way. Not that she was any less stubborn or crude. She honestly never met anyone who could face her so heads-on in a battle of wills, both so use to getting their way. That's why she hadn't argued with him when he told her about the search for the Century Soup, they wouldn't have gotten anywhere and Match's departure would have been on a sour note between them.

Such a vexing man. When he came back, she was going to force him to weed her garden for a good week for taking so fucking long. Just rub his incompetence in his face.

"Okay, Lala, that's enough for today," Kira ordered as she stretched backed, bones cracking loudly. "Gather the potatoes we pulled out. I'm thinking of starting a Blue-Button Soup today. How does that sound?"

The look the little girl gave her (as if Kira had hung the moon, stars, and was the reason the sun shone during the day), said enough.

It wasn't as if Kira was doing it especially for her. There had canned so much food in the past to make supplies last longer, and while most were already gone, the Kitchen now had a plethora of leftover canned food. A bit of this, a bit of that, and a bit of something that made be a bit past its expiration date (but that could be fixed with the right ingredients). It was high time to use it, and a stew in which anything and everything goes in was the fastest and most doable solution. Still…

"You'll have to have a button though," Kira told the little girl solemnly, with all the seriousness of a priest.

The little girl instantly ran to her rag doll to pull out a small, worn, blue button that had obviously been meticulously cleaned. With equal ceremony, Lala placed the tiny thing in Kira's larger, darker hands. At some point in their brief relationship, Lala had gotten the notion that Kira could make delicious soup (and lots of it) by adding a blue button to a pot of water. From thereon, that belief was unshakable and Kira felt telling the little girl otherwise was like telling a child that Gourmet Santa Claus, the Easter Egg Bunny, and the Delicious Tooth Fairy were not real all in one go. Even she wasn't blunt enough to do that. Giving the blonde child a nod of thanks and a quiet thank, she scooped the little girl up and started to make her way back to the Kitchen.

To Kira…Lala was special, or the closest. A beautiful child of (what Kira estimated as) 8 years old, Lala followed the older woman around and helped her in the Kitchen. As she had nowhere to go and no means of independency, the girl was taken in by Kira. She now slept with the dark-haired woman on a pallet that was rolled up and stuffed under a shelf during the day, had learned to chop vegetables and slice meat in even, consistent chunks, and determinedly did the same chores Kira did.

It reminded the woman so much of her younger brother when he was younger that she didn't have the heart to say.

Just as she reached the doorway of the Kitchen, she felt Lala stiffen in her arms. Following a suddenly wary Lala's gaze, Kira stiffened herself and blinked. There, toddling over from a ways, were four figures. All of which Kira could recognize.

Putting Lala down, she whispered quietly to the child, "Go find the Troublesome Trio and tell them that Match and the boys are back. If you meet any trouble, use the whistle. I'll come to you no matter where you are."

Nodding, the child quickly made herself scarce, reminding Kira that Lala was also a child of Nerg. Turning back to her company, she strode up to meet them. The stopped with only about a foot of distance between the two parties; the men somewhat sheepish and trying not to show it (they were proud members of the Gourmet Yakuza. They did not do sheepish) and the single woman openly assessing their physical states and conditions with a critical eye for detail. The slightly bedraggled male-turned-overgrown-boys suddenly feeling as if they were a particularly difficult or frustrating ingredient the cook was dealing with. It wasn't a good feeling and very foreboding. After all, frustrating or questionable ingredients usually ended up at the sharp points of the woman's many kitchen blades.

"So," Kira huffed as she discretely swiped a hand across her nose, a copious amount of sarcasm dripping from her voice. "You lot have fun on your little romp to gods knows where?"

"What gave it away?" Match bantered dryly.

She gave him a look that told him his wit was unappreciated. "Besides the fact that you're limping, Ram's missing an ear, Louie's missing an eye, and you're all moving around like you've been put through a meat grinder, molded back into shape, then chewed on?" she quipped haughtily. "Not much. I'm very proud of my eye for detail. Don't worry, I'm sure no one else will notice besides me."

Shin winced, "No mercy, Nee-sama? How cruel."

Match snorted at his subordinate's pitiful comment, "She's a cruel woman."

"And I'd be the first one to admit it," Kira added in without missing a beat. She stood there with her arms crossed, and a stoic look of calm displeasure written all over her face. One would have thought the men had only trailed mud into her home or something of the like. "You're supremely late. A few days you said. It's been two weeks, and you come back without the Soup and only more wounds to show for it. What do you have to say for yourself, Vice-Boss-sama."

Match raised an exasperated eyebrow. "Are you done yet? Because I really do have something some things to tell you. I thought I'd come to tell you first so that you wouldn't rip me a new one, but if you are going to anyway, I might as well first go inform Boss Ryuu that I'm back."

"Oh for—," Kira dragged an equally exasperated hand down her face while waving at Match. "I'm done, I'm done, you vexing man. You four stay around until I'm finished cooking, and I'll serve you up a poor man's welcome-back meal. Lala went to go get the Troublesome Trio, so they'll be wanting to see you. Come to the window, tell me what happened to take you so long."

Afraid for more scathingly digging words and condescending looks, the four followed her meekly back to the little hut so that she could prepare the coming meal.

 

—

 

"Bishokukai?"

"Yep," Match sighed as he leaned back against the outside window ledge. Despite the grim topic, he couldn't help but smile a little as he watched Shin, Ram, and Louie play and tussle gently with the boys Kira had dubbed as the Troublesome Trio. Both sides played happily, but both sides also did it with an undercurrent of wariness. While the older men were always careful with the boys' malnourished, weaker bodies, the boys could sense that the older Yakuza members were not in their top form. On the side of the window, Kira went about her business. She knew that Match would keep an eye on the boys, so she kept an eye on a shy Lala hanging around the edges of the playing group as she continued to listen to Match. "I'm heard of them briefly mentioned by Boss Ryuu before, but only mentions. Do you happen to know anything about them, Kira?"

"And what makes you think I would know anything, idiot-Match?" Kira responded nonchalantly. "I'm just a cook."

Match snorted, "Just a cook, my ass."

"I had not known you swung that way," Kira commented, just because she could and it was amusing. She was given a sideways, flat look that spoke volumes of "really?" for her trouble.

"The strange thing is that you're never surprised by anything. Not when we, the Gourmet Yakuza and me the Vice-Boss of all people, arrived personally on your doorstep. Not when I told you who the client was, where we were going, or who we met. You act innocent and unknowing, but you knew everything, didn't you?" It wasn't a question. "You were a little surprised when I mentioned Living National Treasure Setsuno, but not much else. And you know what that makes me think?" Match turned to face the woman fully, leaning against the counter on crossed arms to look at Kira's turned back with slightly narrowed eyes. "I think you knew what happened all the way up until we entered Ice Hell. You knew that Heavenly King Toriko was aboard and you knew I went in the same group as him. You guessed that a Saiseiya would be sent to a take care of the ingredients kept by the old Gourmets, ingredients that no longer exist. You weren't surprised that it was Bloody-Yosaku's (a famous Saiseiya) student, so you weren't surprised when we were taken to Life. You weren't even surprised when I mentioned the Bishokukai, for all the way you keep asking things as if you didn't know what's going on." Match stopped here, and there was a tense pause between the two of them, echoed only by steady, nonstop chopping of a knife against a wooden board. "Kira…I've never questioned your past or your motives. There are a number of questionable subjects around your existence that other family heads keep bringing up, but I never looked into it and I don't plan to. That's your business and I'll wait until you're willing to tell me yourself. But you know things. You always seem to know things, and this is important. To me, at least. I want to know where these monsters are coming from, and if we have to face them again in the future. So please, tell me what you know, Kira."

There was only silence save for the sound of steady chopping (Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!) followed by the scrape of metal against wood and many small things slid with a plop! into some thick liquid in a rough cauldron held over a insistently cackling fire. Match sighed and withdrew, thinking that Kira wasn't going to relent.

"I don't know about the Bishokukai," Kira admitted. "No one really those. Only those of high-ranking in IGO know the full story. Setsuno-sama being one of them," Kira sighed and turned around to lean back against the counter, arms crossed as she peered at Match tiredly. "I do know this though. They are one faction that will eventually go to war over what I'm guessing is Acacia's Full Course, or at least, control over all Gourmet ingredients. How do I know this? Because they've been kidnapping good and famous chefs for years now. Anyone who cooks well enough knows of this. No one talks about it, but we know. Also, they're seeking very rare and very hard-to-get Gourmet ingredients that can maximize Gourmet Cells, and they always take as much as they can. As if to boost someone's Gourmet Cells all at once. It's obvious to anyone within certain loops that that group is gathering an army."

"An army?" Match breathed, not quite believing it. "Of people like Tommyrod and Barrygamon…an army of monsters like them?! Are these Bishokukai insane?"

"It's not as insane as you would think it is," the woman shot him down as she walked over. Bracing both hands on the counter, she leaned forward to look Match in the eye with an intensity that left Match feeling a chill run down his spine. "IGO does the exact same thing. They collect the best chefs and hone them, as well as gather Gourmet ingredients that can enhance Gourmet Cells. Match, what exactly did you think the Four Heavenly Kings are for?"

And Match froze, the gears in his mind turning. It made sense, and honestly, Match had thought of it before. After all, having met Zebra, it wasn't such a jump of imagination. What in the world would be the purpose of protecting that monster (because IGO was sure as hell protecting that Heavenly King), if he didn't have some use? The beast of a man could take down pretty much any creature the human race would ever want to eat. So what was with all that power, if not to fight beasts just as powerful as he?

But…Match then met Toriko. The cheerful, grinning man and his cheerful, determined partner. And Match…just couldn't connect it. Toriko, despite those moments of monstrous shows of ability, was human to Match. Superhuman maybe, but still human. The thought that his friend was more or less IGO's living weapon to use as the organization saw fit was…horrifying. Suddenly, Match could see the portrayal Kira painted for him very clearly. A clash of Titans and Gods, with normal people being swept up into the chaos. All for the mythical Full Course of Acacia. And if half of the stories of those dishes were true, well, history had humans going to war for much less.

After all, in the Gourmet Age, whoever controlled the ingredients and the cooking of said ingredients controlled the world.

"Anyways," Kira sighed and moved to continue her work. "It's not any of our business. We normal people can't reach that superhuman realm. Besides, I'm more interested in that chef you mentioned earlier. Komatsu, was it?"

Match blinked before pushing his previous thoughts away. She was right, the frustrating woman. He would chew on the information she had given him later. Food hell, he was slightly skeptical that she didn't already have Komatsu's life history memorized down to a pat. "Yeah, do you know him?"

This was around the time that Kira pulled out a whetting stone and starting sharpening one kitchen blade after another as she left her soup to stew. "Of sorts," she hummed cryptically. The sound of the knife sharpening wasn't a harsh, grating sound, but rather, almost a clear ringing. Match wondered what kind of material that particular knife was made of. "Any chef that is partnered with a Heavenly King is someone worth noting. That, and as far as I am aware, there never actually has been another chef to partner with any of the Heavenly Kings. And now he's determined to remake the Century Soup with modern-day ingredients as Toriko recovers, no matter how long it takes. So he must be an interesting one, one way or another, don't you think?"

"True enough," Match agreed. "There was something about him that just…draws you in."

"It's called love at first sight, idiot-Match," Kira taunted with an edge of teasing glee. "You took one look at his beautiful eyes and fell in love with the Heavenly King's chef partner. How daring!"

Match snorted and rolled his eyes. He chose not to mention to her how he had been stunned when he first spotted Komatsu entering the Heavy Lodge Bar with Toriko, thinking that the Komatsu's round eyes held a startling similarity Kira's. Except where Komatsu's eyes were always wide with innocent wonder and cheerfulness, Kira's eyes were always narrowed with suspicion, stoicism, or taunts. Match mentally shook himself. So he met someone with an eye shape that somewhat reminded him of Nerg's resident cook. He was so glad that Boss Ryuu (who could read Match like an open book with big fonts) wasn't here.

Otherwise, he would tease both of them that it wasn't Komatsu that Match was falling in love with. And as much as Match respected his Boss, the old man didn't know anything and sometimes had a tendency to talk too much when it came to his "children".

 

—

 

A few months later saw Match back at the Kitchen, this time alone, with Kira waiting for him at the doorway. Even Lala had left earlier with the Troublesome Trio to go play with Match's Entourage Trio, who had also just got back. After a couple of months, Lala had gotten over her shyness towards the older men with Kira's encouragement and seemed to adore them just as much as the boys. In turn, Ram, Louie, and Shin grew almost as fond of Lala as they were to the Trio. They and Match would joke that Lala was Kira's little duckling and the Kitchen's upcoming 2nd cook.

"We're back."

"And actually on time this time," Kira quipped dryly. With a gentler quirk of her lips, she continued while inviting Match in. "Come on in. How was your trip into IGO? Was there any trouble?"

"Nope," Match replied with his own lip quirk as he made his way into the Kitchen. "It was a peaceful trip. Apparently, being a personal acquaintance of a Heavenly King and a Living National Treasure has its perks."

"So Chef Komatsu really succeeded in making the Century Soup?" Kira questioned as she leaned her hip against one cement counter while crossing her arms. The only sign that she was keen for details was a particular sharpness in her gaze.

"See for yourself," Match smirked as he held up a container covering in rough canvas. Kira's eyes widened in surprise, and Match's smirk widened a smidge. He did so enjoy catching the uptight, always-in-control woman off-guard.

"Match...you didn't..."

Match walked over to her and placed the case on the counter before taking off the sheet. As he did, an aurora seemed to weave itself around them and through that part of the room. Watching Kira's wonder filled face, something in Match's gaze and posture softened. He watched quietly as Kira reach out to brush the case gently with her finger tips, a gentle smile grew upon her face to match a loving gaze. In those moments, her face was so open in wonderment and happiness that Match couldn't help but stare. Having never seen her show any emotion openly besides controlled outright hostility, this suddenly vulnerability both fed his wonderment as well as threw him for a loop. And…a small part of him wished he could show her more things that would make that face soften like that; the face of a human woman and not just of a watchful guardian.

Because honestly, it made him feel like he did something right.

"It's beautiful...," she murmured quietly, her tone colored with something that was close to worship. "Chef Komatsu actually made this? And this is what the original Century Soup looked like?"

"Yeah," Match confirmed, his deep voice having also dropped down to a whisper as he watched her with hooded eyes. "It looks and smells exactly the same."

Lifting the case carefully, Kira peered at the Soup through the clear glass carefully, examining it this way and that with a curious, sharp eye. Opening the top, she took a whiff.

"It's a very well blended and well strained soup," Kira murmured, deep in thought. She didn't seem to be very aware of Match's presence and almost seemed to be talking to herself. "There's definitely soup stock from a Stock Pelican in here. I'm getting a taste of Cartilage Cabbage, and either Ice or Snow Katsubushi. This particular texture…he probably used Balk Potatoes for starch. There so many ingredients. And he did this with only a taste of the original and a little more than 6 months!" She sighed in contentment and appreciation before putting the case down. "Thank you for letting me see. You should probably be getting this to the kids now. I can heat it up for you a little more if you want."

While she was talking, Match had taken the chance to pull out some little chipped sauce dishes Kira used to taste her cooking. Setting the dishes down, he gave her what could only be described as a self-satisfied smirk.

"Does it look like there is more than two mouthfuls in there to you?"

Only then did Kira notice the very small amount of soup that was actually in the container. Brows knitting in vexation at missing that, her eyes cleared into another expression of startled disbelief that she directed at Match.

"You left some for me?"

"No," Match smiled with all the respect and trust and comradeship he felt for her. Picking up the container, he poured what was left of the soup into the two sauce dishes. "I left some for both of us to share a drink."

"You say it as if we were sharing a bottle of alcohol," she murmured, sharing an amused, secretive smile and a quiet 'thank-you' in return as she picked up the dish delicately.

Match snorted as he picked up his own dish, "It certainly has that effect. Half the time, I wondered whether it made us happy or just really drunk."

"The ingredients were happy, and they were cooked by someone who listened to them and shared their happiness. It only makes sense that it resulted in a very happy soup," Kira comment with a thoughtful air. Raising her cup, she gave him another small smirk. "Thank you for the food. Cheers."

And with that, both of them pulled back and let the soup slide smoothly down their throats.

But Match had forgotten to mention something to the woman. Having only remembering the joy the soup bought, he remember the effects the soup had on their faces only after he felt his the muscles in his face start to twitch spastically. And he wasn't the only one feeling the effects.

"D-d-don't look!" Raki stuttered as she laughed and covered her face, so uncharacteristically happy and embarrassed that it made Match grin more easily and laugh as well. "I'm making such a weird face right now!"

"Come on! Let me see!" he chuckled. He might not be so far off with the 'drunk' idea. Gently grabbing her wrists after putting his dish down, he pulled her hands away from his face. Her face was just as comically contorted and blissful as all the others he'd seen. It was just so uncharacteristic and happily distorted that Kira could practically see the extra laughter in Match's eyes as he looked at her. Admittedly, seeing his usually angled face was just as funny. "See, my face is the same. Nothing to be shy about. There isn't any reason why you shouldn't show you're happy once in a while. We can't act like so stiff all the time can we?" His combination of a pointed smirk and his continued distorted grin caused another snort of laughter to catch Kira off-guard.

"You vexing man!" she cried as she laughed through her blissful smile, still half-heartedly attempting to take back her hands from Match's grasp.

"Hey, I brought you soup and I'm the one vexing!" he returned easily. He refused to let her go. "What a cruel woman."

Neither took particular notice that as they laughed and chatted and made fun of each other's distorted grins that Match's grasp had slid from her wrists to her hands.

And as his large, calloused hands closed around her smaller, equally calloused hands, she grasped back.

 

—

 

Long after Match had left and Lala had returned to be put the bed, Kira was leaning against the spot on the counter she had been against that afternoon. Even though all the lights had long since been put out in the sky as well as the hut, the woman was still awake as she toyed with a chipped sauce dish. Despite the fact that the moon that night was blocked by clouds and that the part of the city they lived in was never lit, the gently waving aurora that grew from a single drop of Century Soup still rolling around in the sauce dish cast Kira's face in shadows. Besides the movements of her hand, she was curiously still with a serious intensity in laser-pointer gaze.

If Lala had been awake, she would have been very curious about the expression on the older woman's face. Made strange by flickering shadows, her face looked darkly demonic one second and almost sadly nostalgic in another. But it was made stranger by the edge of what could only be an almost anticipatory air about her.

"Very nice, Komatsu," she murmured quietly, her whisper barely just a light brushstroke in the silence. Tipping the dish up, she continued to whisper to someone only she could see with a suddenly, strangely unfocused gaze. "So you've finally start to take the first steps. Big things are coming, and you need to go faster and further. Until then…" she trailed off.

Sighing to herself, Kira downed the last drop and effectively plunged the hut into darkness. As she had told Match earlier, it was none of her business now. Choices and resolutions were made, and made worlds apart. The cook could do nothing.

She would just have to deal with things as they came around.


	3. Match and the Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Match can't catch a very fat cat. 
> 
> Also, he's reminded that he can ask for help.

Match was many things.

He was a man. Whatever else he was, he had done and did his best to live up to the man who he and many others had come to see as their father.

He was strong. And he believed he could be stronger (his continued training evidence of this belief). But the fact was he had to have reached a certain threshold of strength to get where he was today.

He loved to eat. Everybody who lived in the Gourmet Age did, doubly so if you hadn’t had enough to eat at some point of your life.

He was a member of the Gourmet Yakuza. Although he knew it wasn’t something well looked upon by most people, he was proud to be part of the criminal corporation. It was, after all, his family.

He was a leader and a comrade. Each and every one of his subordinates were his responsibility, and Match took this responsibility very seriously. If someone dared harm his men…Well, it didn’t matter who the perpetrators were, “eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth”.

He liked to think he was understanding and fair. When given the chance, he listened to everyone’s side of the story and he gave everyone one chance. ONE chance. The Bishokukai, for example…scum like them shouldn’t exist.

He was a subordinate and loyal. And as a loyal subordinate, follower of Boss Ryuu, Match was willing to do many things and nearly everything for his boss.

_“Garruuuuuu!”_

_“Stupid frickin’ cat!”_

Including (apparently), running around Nerg trying to catch an obese cat.

'Trying' being a very important word here.

And it wasn’t fair that such a fat cat was so fuckin’ fast.

_“There it goes!”_

_“Shin! Kuro! Leo! Circle around! Louie! Su! Banb! Take the alley! The rest of you are with me!”_

As Boss Ryuu’s right hand, Match was willing to do many things for his boss. It didn’t matter how demeaning or how menial, if it was important to Boss, it was important to Match. Even if it meant running around like a fool to catch Lady Masako’s rare (and much hated) golden Long-Haired Nekomata Siamese. And as much as Match respected and appreciated Boss Ryuu’s sweet, elegant consort who was as much like a mother to them all as the Boss was a father, he had more reason than most to hate the woman’s nasty-tempered cat. Since he was a child just taken in by Boss Ryuu, that cat had been out to get him. 

No, Match was not imagining it.

Evil thing with that evil twinkle in its wet, beady eyes. Pissing on Match’s bed sheets only for the blonde to discover when he went to bed. Stealing his underwear from the laundry basket. Leaving dead mice on his seat at the table, on his pillow, inside his shoes, or—god-forbid—inside the pockets of his jacket.

He had taken off his jacket only for a second….

Still, how the hell—

_“DAAHH! It went down that hole!”_

It was merely one of the smaller openings that resulted from the crumbling debris that now made up half a building. A hole half the size of that overstuffed cat. And said demo—creature had popped itself in. It had stuffed every furry inch in. Somehow.

If he wasn’t currently busy and so god-damned tired right now, Match would be smacking his head on a nearby wall for the direction his mind had turned. Not even on purpose, but the way that sounded even in his head told him that he may need to stop hanging around the members of the Yakuza that were still more or less in their teenage years. They needed training, but not at the expense of Match’s sanity. That his usual focus was wavering was truly a sign of just how tired he was at this point.

Innuendoes. They really seem to come from nowhere...

_“CAN SOMEONE ALREADY CATCH THAT GOD-DAMN CAT?!” Match roared as he tore down another pathway. His minions in black suits and sunglasses stampeded after him._

 

* * *

 

“Are you sure this is going to work….?”

“Quiet! Of course it is! And that fat devil won’t even know what hit him!”

Bara was an ordinary man. He was ordinary in every aspect.

Besides the fact that he was in the Gourmet Yakuza.

And that he was twice as big as the man who was his Vice-Boss.

And probably physically very strong. Not that he could beat Vice-Boss in a fight, but he could lift more.

But besides that, yes, he was very ordinary.

And as an ordinary person with some special physical traits but overall still has an ordinary mindset, Bara reeaalllyyy didn’t think this was going to work.

“Vice-Boss,” he inquired while checking his grip on the rope. It didn’t matter what he thought, an ordinary man does the job his boss (or vice-boss) gives him. “Isn’t this a little…extreme? In order to just catch Lady Masako’s cat?”

What the faithful Bara was gesturing towards (with his words, because he really couldn’t let go of that rope), was a pile of assorted, days-old smelly fishy leftovers sitting underneath a large metal cage. Said cage was supported by a rope, which was held by the very big Yakuza member. Said Yakuza and his Vice-Boss were standing around the corner of the alley this was all taking place in.

“Extreme? No, it’s the perfect trap for that little, furry monster,” Match reassured in his confident, leader-voice. “It’ll be too busy with the fish to notice us. And with how smelly those scrapes are, it’ll draw it in and keep it from sniffing us out until it’s too late.”

Personally, Bara though the locals would find it first and it was usually something Vice-Boss bought up in himself first, but the frazzled, usually neat(-er) blonde hair and slightly crazed, menacing gaze his superior was currently directing at everyone and everything made him swallow his words.

“I see,” Bara nodded, “But, if I may ask…what is the rock for?”

Said rock was, in fact, a large chunk of debris Match had Bara pick up and tangle into the rope over the cage. If the cage came down, then the rock would come down on top of the metal prison.

“Because,” Match replied with a slight drawl to his voice and a meaningful sideways look from one eye, “Accidents happen.”

Bara nodded while breaking into just a bit of cold sweat. Admittedly, they had been searching and evaded and led on many chases for the past four days, but he hadn’t anticipated Match already start to lose it. Scary. The larger man’s twitching gaze as he nodded at Match said it all. “Of course, Vice-Boss.”

Anything else that could have been said was interrupted as both of their attentions were drawn to a golden, round figure swaggering along into the alley, two tails waving as if each had its own separate mind. But both tails were of the mind that they were going to wave jauntily around and trail like flags, even if they did it separately.

“Carefully now…,” Match murmured, his lips barely moving in an almost quiet hiss. “Carefully….”

Bara forcefully relaxed his grip, holding only the bare minimum nodded to keep the cage and debris chunk from falling. The two men waited anxiously, neither daring to move a muscle as they looked on as if the fat creature were a creature straight out of the Gourmet World.

“NOW!”

And chaos broke loose like a pack of enraged Troll Kongs.

 

* * *

 

A few hours later found a scuffed up and discouraged Gourmet Yakuza Vice Boss slumped on a slab of concrete slightly propped up by rubble. Match had a hand over his faces, his thumb rubbing against a spot he thought might be the epicenter of one of the more severe of his multiple headaches. His subordinates were still running around, and he…having a break. Taking a breather. Apparently his subordinates thought he needed it. That the dark bags under his eyes were a bad sign of his health. That he…

He had failed. Failed his Boss and Lady Masako

“Well, now what do we have here?” a familiar, amused female voice broke the downtrodden, depressed silence. “A grown man sulking like a little boy. Sweet.”

“Not now, Kira,” Match gritted out, very closing to snapping. As much as he usually enjoyed bantering with her, he just wasn’t in the mood right now for her snark.

“Someone is rather grumpy today,” the irritating woman drawled.

“You’d be too if you were having the days I’ve been having,” Match all but snarled at her.

“Vexing man,” came the usual, casual snort with a condescending edge. “Just tell me already. Seeing as you’re just sitting here, you don’t exactly have anything better to do.”

“I’m trying to find Lady Masako’s very important companion!” Match retorts sullenly, still refusing to look at what he was sure would be a taunting smirk spread across that female’s face. He had failed and they both knew it. And he didn’t need her to remind him of that!

“And seeing as how you’ve been apparently running yourself ragged,” Kira continued, “This precious companion of Boss Ryu’s consort must be pretty sly. Who or what is this companion exactly?”

“A cat,” he answered in a cross between a growl and a groan. He threw his hands out a little as a desperate, disbelieving tone entered his tone. “We’ve been running our asses of all fuckin’ week to catch a stupid fatass cat! I’m the Vice-Boss, right-hand man of one of the most ferocious figures in the world and I can’t even catch a frickin’ cat. If it’s still even out there. Provided a starving family hasn’t already caught the beast and eaten it. Stupid thing deserves it.”

“Really,” she answered in a deadpan voice that turned a question into a flat statement. Then came a statement that would have sounded like a question if not for the amused, dead tone she was using. “You couldn’t possibly mean this cat.” 

One would wonder if Match got whiplash with how fast he turned his head  
And there it was. The accursed golden feline that seemed to just melt over the dark-haired woman’s crossed arms like so much heavy dough, purring like it had been doused in so much Golden Catnip Oil.

And, oh, yep. That’s definitely the taunting smirk on her face. 

Match sputtered “What the—how did you—?!”

The wicked, bordering on sassy, evil grin wrought across the short woman’s face matched that evil demon-cat’s stare eerily. Both were just too easily amused by his suffering and lack of usual carefully groomed composure.

“I think he likes you,” Kira hummed with a wicked gleam in those dark eyes. 

“L-likes me,” Match sputtered disbelievingly. “Likes me?! That things been leaving scraggly, starved, dead things in my things and hairballs and piss over my…my…my everything since I was a frickin’ kid.”

“That’s how some creatures show their affection. Or he may just be playing. Food knows, it’s funny to yank your chain once in a while,” Kira hummed off-handedly in a way that suggests she had just casually admitted to something that would make everyone miserable in the future. But the underlining tone rang that she was entirely too pleased with herself. Food God’s oath, Match could swear each the tattoo of the Ashera cat was smirking at him. The chit was enjoying this, just winding him up and leaving him stunned and breathless and flailing like a Silkmilk Calf with disbelief. Still wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. He could only numbly stumble after her as she turned and strode off purposely back towards the Yakuza HQ.

For a while, they just walked in silence. Picking their way through the crumbling city, Match started to relax. He had questions to ask and things to check, but they could wait until after a short, efficient nap. Just a little time to meditate and center himself again after this fiasco. Eventually he was just strolling next to the woman as the familiar gates came into a view. It was her that broke the comfortable silence.

“You can learn to ask for help Match,” she snorted as she let the (be-damned) demon cat slide onto her shoulder. It curled around her neck happily, its two sweeping tails curled lightly around the front of her neck and its head disappearing as it curled up. For all appearances, it looked like she had a massive, fuzzy scarf wrapped around her neck. Hooking an arm around an exhausted Match’s, she pulled him along as if Match’s soul wasn’t floating out of his mouth. “For guys like you, help will always come when you ask for it.”

“Even so, it doesn’t mean I should ask for it,” he muttered in reply as he shortened his steps to better match her shorter strides. One could say he sounded sullen, but men of the Gourmet Yakuza didn’t do sullen. Besides, anyone who said so to his face would be met with a fist to their face.

“Oh stop sounding so damn sulky,” the dark haired woman snapped.

Never mind.

“You aren’t alone, idiot-Match,” she continued as they strolled back towards the compound together. “Asking for help won’t kill you or your pride. People willing to help you is a resource. Stop acting as if you should take care of everything on your own.”

The towering blonde man blinked at this. Of all things, hearing that said out loud to him was a shock. He, knew of course, that he wasn’t alone anymore. But sometimes (read: most the time), he couldn’t help but just revert back to the mindset he had as a brat. A homeless, starving brat of Nerg that had to watch out for himself and the younger children that looked up to him. It was just…he was the responsible. Is the responsible one.

“I guess so,” Match sighed after a couple more beats of contemplation. “You might be right.”

“Of course,” Kira snarked, dark eyes glistening with a teasing glint that shone a lighter violet than the rest of her nearly black iris. “I’m never wrong about these things.” 

His lips twitched a little in response before reaching down to snag the arm hooked around his, pulling it so that it rested it rested in the crook of his elbow.

 

Match was many things.

He was a subordinate and loyal. To the point he would humiliate himself by becoming a cat-catcher for his boss.

He liked to think he was understanding and fair. Match never took his frustrations out on his on subordinates no matter how agitated he got and no matter how many times they bumbled trying to catch a pet the size of a watermelon.

He was a leader and a comrade. After all, he had tromped throughout the city right with them chasing that hated feline.

He was a member of the Gourmet Yakuza. It is beneath him to get this riled up over a pet cat.

He loved to eat. And if he ever got the chance, he was going to eat that damn creature.

He was strong. Chasing that cat nearly nonstop for as long as he did needed an amount of stamina an average person wouldn’t have.

He was a man. And as a man…

It took a woman to remind him that he was human and may need to ask for help from others sometimes. 

But to be fair, she was a pretty cruel (if down-to-earth) woman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fluffy chapter here, with hints of foreshadowing. Yeah, I'm gonna have a bunch of fillers like this with hints of plot and foreshadowing. Though, promise there will be real action by Chapter 5.
> 
> Read: slow build [in the tags].
> 
> Also, thank you to all readers, subscribers, and kudo-ers.


	4. Stub Donkey Woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kira gets into a little trouble, arguments, backstories, why the hell this OC has so many tattoos, and fluff. So much fluff. XP
> 
> Disclaimer: Everything belongs to the who they belong to. End of story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, thank you to all the readers, favoriters, subscribers, and kudos. I'm glad that my fanfic amuses you and satisfies some part of you that needs to be fed fanwork, that just NEEDS more the Toriko world. I relate. I know what that's like. And I'm glad that this does it for you.
> 
> For those who are thinking of Kira is a Mary Sue, please comment and explain why. To me, fanfiction is practice and a way to take a break from my book writing (and procrastination from school). I'd actually really would like opinions on how to better present characters. A lot of it has to do with fanfiction writing is actually pretty different from writing your own stuff, because of the analyzing of canon characters and blah blah blah.
> 
> On the other hand, if you don't like the character and can't explain? Well, honey, it's not 2003. If you're just going to go MARY SUE, because it's a term you know and thinks it makes you sound smart? Don't. I need more than that. Opinions please. Prove you have them.

For all that he was a mobster, Match had a healthy appreciation for peace and quiet. Too much of it made him feel lost. Inactivity made him feel antsy. He thrived on the challenge and just didn’t know how to live a quiet, peaceful life. It had never been an option for him. But being in said environment filled with suffering and conflict made him more distinctly appreciative of the smaller things in life. Unfortunately, those small things and brief moments tended to number few in the circumstances he was born into and later, his chosen lifestyle. And meetings like the one he was currently in promised that they would be even fewer in the immediate future.

“There’s been an increase in narcotic and drug ingredients in the market,” one of the captains reported gravely. “Even non-food based drugs seem to be making a bit of a comeback. None of the dealings have been going on in our territory, but it’s been flowing in through other means. And whoever is pushing these drugs are…forceful. They’ve been hiring random thugs picked off the streets to push them. Alongside the drugs, they’ve…Boss, they’ve set up a side business. It’s definitely one group, and they’re not afraid to get their hands dirty with human trade.”

Enraged snarls and noises rang out throughout the room. Outside IGO designated countries, slavery was still a profitable business with a very wealthy clientele. There were even rumors that a few of the more radical groups of Gourmet Yakuza kept slaves among paid servants, but there was no proof. None of the people present in the large tatami room in that counted crowd. Most had been or had someone close who had been in the position where poverty made you a target. Thugs snatching people off the street to force a drug of some kind onto the victim wasn’t something exactly uncommon among the impoverished. Nobody would look twice as it happened, and the victims that already had nothing would sell their soul for another taste. It didn’t matter if they had to run dangerous smuggling expedition, push the drug itself, lure other people the pushers’ way, or sell themselves. They would do it. 

Boss Ryuu looked on stonily over the room as if some bronze deity of judgment, his displeasure coloring the air with his fierce disapproval. The pronounced lines around his eyes were the only signs that he was suppressing a snarl.

“As you know. I do not condone the sale of food drugs, human trafficking or slavery. Especially not in my territory,” Boss Ryuu rumbled in the ominous, calm` yet all-encompassing way that promised an apocalypse-level storm. “Find out what kind of scum we’re dealing with. And how close they’ve dared come.”

“Of course, Boss,” the captain bowed his head from his seat. There was a hesitation before he continued. “Actually, they’ve been skirting around our borders. There’s already been some skirmishes.”

“Elaborate,” Match rumbled. Once upon a time, Match would already be on his feet and yelling furiously. Over time, he had gained more and more control over himself and his reactions. In training to use the suppression techniques, he had learned to direct his anger, and to save it and his energies for the ones or issues he was truly had problems with. Yes, once upon a time, Match would have been already raring to go tear out some throats like a wild dog. Now, he sat to Boss Ryuu’s right in with a similar calm, dignified set to his shoulders. The only thing that gave away his rage was the blade-sharp, coldly furious darkness in his gaze and that tightness around his eyes. To those observing, Match’s visible control and restraint was something even more frightening than his raging.

“I received word that they’ve been using other means of getting their products into our territory,” the captain responded gravely. “A few major sales have taken place just a couple of miles from almost all sides of our borders. Never quite trespassing, but it’s flowing into our markets nevertheless. Yesterday, some pushers set up shop at the northern end of Cocoyashi Road to try to do some recruiting out of people there. However, it hasn’t be confirmed whether or not they’re these new distributors or just a couple of the more run-of-the-mill drug dealers”

 _That_ caused a disturbed murmur to fill the room, the members turning to each other in their seats with tense shoulders or furrowed brows. Cocoyashi Road was one of Nerg’s larger streets with more foot traffic. It drew the northern border of the Gourmet Yakuza’s territory in Nerg City. While it was considered a grey zone as it was also the border for 4, 5 other groups, it was largely acknowledged that if you set up shop on Cocoyashi Road you would play by GY’s rules. And while they couldn’t suppress the drug-ingredient market, they could definitely convey that the muscle-heavy drug pushing was a big no-no. What disturbed the group leaders was how disrespectful case was; because when reports said on Cocoyashi Road, it meant ON Cocoyashi Road. Nobody could remember the last time someone showed such a blatant disregard of their authority right on Headquarter’s territory.

“Did they manage to recruit anyone?” Someone inquired. Their question laced with a seriousness implying they would have to ‘deal’ with whatever recruit if the answer was positive. It would be a sad case if the pushers were just regular drug pushers, something they could TRY to squash out if given time. But if there was something bigger going on, if there was someone behind the scenes…Well, it wouldn’t do to let a shadowy group gain ways into their territory. Nor could they let some shadowy figure gain free rein of people who could reveal hidey holes and secret ways that even the Yakuza didn’t know.

“Unfortunately, yes,” the reporting captain answered somberly. “They force fed three men, who we are trying to rehab. They have been showing progress, but rest assured. I will have them dealt with if they cannot pass the final tests. Luckily, it was only those two. By a stroke of misfortune on their part, they went after some of the Cook’s flock on their fourth attempt. She seemed to have taken exception to that.”

Some of the members of the room leaned forward in interest. Kira, recently dubbed as ‘The Cook’ in this particular circle and others like it, had become a somewhat interesting topic discussed off-handedly among the Yakuza’s upper echelon. A young woman seeming to appear out of thin air to open a soup kitchen, all while holding her own amongst the city wilderness and even claiming those who came to her as her own. It was almost unbelievable and a source of a trepidation, amusement, and an almost mocking respect for her stubbornness.

“Haha! That woman must have been angry,” Kirajima, a branch head, mused as he scratched at his bearded chin with an amused smile. “So we won’t be seeing those particular dealers around anymore, eh?”

The big, steadfast (if impulsive) man had been one of the branch heads around when they had first made contact with Kira, and was therefore had been exposed to her back when her responses tended to lean towards threats of dismemberment and overall hostility. He and the frustrating, obviously insane woman had formed a strange relationship. She detested his overtly friendly approach and prickled like an agitated cat. Kirajima found her annoyance and struggles to keep him at a distance amusing and went out of his way to agitate her even more, a past time he seemed to practice on all those who shied away from him. Personally, Match thought it might be because some of Kira’s more volatile responses reminded Kirajima of some of his more violent sisters. Of all the branch families, it was his family that were the warmongers, often taking to any conflicts the Yakuza had with unholy glee right at the front lines. Made enough sense, that whole branch of the family was nuts. It did, however, given Kira an opportunity to glean embarrassing stories about Match because Kirajima had a big fuckin’ mouth.

“Yes, the Cook intervened. It seems that she had been in the area and was drawn into the conflict,” the reporting captain answered. “Those in this ‘Flock’ have been growing bold, enough that they came to us directly as well. By the time we arrived, she had fought them off and left us to do the clean-up and hunt down the remaining dealer. We took the liberty of treating some of her more severe wounds while we were at it.”

Match was on his feet before he fully comprehended moving.

 

* * *

 

“I really don’t understand what all this fuss is about. This seriously can’t be the worse shape you’ve ever seen me in.”

“I really don’t understand why you’re so thickheaded. Goddamit, woman, there were EIGHT of them!”

“Oh, this coming from the man who decided that he would venture into a place aptly named Ice _Hell_ soon after recovering from extensive injuries that had him bedridden for _how long_? The pot called, Mister Vice-Head. It wants you to dye your shitty suit black so you can MATCH.”

“Clever,” he deadpanned with an eye roll. “I’m the fucking Second of a global criminal syndicate. It’s part of the goddamn _job_ to go after Gourmet ingredients. You are one woman with a SOUP KITCHEN facing off with _eight_ men who deal in human trafficking,” Match growled as he stalked along, his shoulders raised with how tense he was. “You are fucking overestimating yourself, that’s what you’re doing.”

“Excuse YOU! I sure as hell didn’t hear what I thought I heard come out of your mouth!” Kira bit out, narrowing her eyes in annoyance as she continued to stomp through the ramshackle bazaar. Her current, half-way crazed appearance was fairly intimidating (and it certainly sent some of the people in their immediate vicinity scrambling), but Match merely sneered back at her. Despite their bickering, Match’s hand immediately moved to steady the wooden frame strapped to her back when Kira turned a corner. “I will shove my fucking boot up your cracked ass! I was FINE. I AM fine. It was eight guys, and I’m no monster Bishokuya, but I sure as hell dealt with worse! Was I supposed to just LET them take Mayor and Makino?! So the fight was tighter and downright more down and dirty than usual. I dealt with it no problem, so where’d you get off questioning my ability, you shitty Jigsaw?!”

Match’s eye twitched in annoyance at the nickname, one reserved to when she was really seemed to want to agitate him and usually when her cool and cultured speech started slipping. It’d be funny if he wasn’t so pissed. “Woman, look at you! Half of your face is swollen,” he waved an exasperated hand. “You can’t open one eye or raise your right arm past your shoulder. I’ve seen you fight and you’re good, but you don’t have any business getting into brawls all over the damn place. So far you’ve been lucky in that you’ve been flying under people’s radar, and here you are throwing yourself head-on onto the knife! It was cocky and _stupid_ and reckless! They bounced you around like a piece of Tomyum Pork Chop gone under a mallet!”

“They did before I starting breaking jaws,” Kira shot back.

Even now as she was visibly laboring under the weight of her cargo, Kira determinedly plodded on; a whole team of mules in stubborn strength, exhausted sweat, and her own unique mix of pride and force of will. Visibly bruised, she had on swathes of old bandages, a black eye that had swollen her eye shut and distorted that part of her face. Her normally swept back hair was messy and strands stuck wetly to her face. Yet Kira still carried the air of someone who would coldly go for your throat with bared teeth if it was the last thing she did. Albeit, with an edge of almost desperate wildness that bordered on insanity. Both she and Match were dangerously pushing the borders of their cool, each riling the other up even further.

“I don’t need ya shitty approval to do JACK!” Kira hissed back and dodged around another group. All the while maneuvering her carrying pole so not to hit somebody with the cargo at the ends or give someone the chance to get at the boxes. “Ya said you’re here to help! So help and stop nagging me already! You’ve been on this shit for the past fuckin’ _hour_! This is a dangerous city. Did ya expect me to not EVER get hurt?”

“I expect you to not go out of your way looking for fights!” Match griped. “I expect you not to act like a hero, or stand there like an idiot and let them come at you!”

“Rich, coming from the guy who lead himself and three minions onto a suicide mission,” she snarled, stomping on one step in rage. “Only took nearly getting all of ya nearly getting killed AFTER having EVERY BONE in your collective bodies broken and Shin getting his eye ripped out to get ya to finally admit you were out of YOUR _damn league_!” She stomped in emphasis to her last words.

Match inhaled sharply as Kira’s eyes widened, both of them missing a step and a slap-in-the-face silence falling between the two of them. The tall Yakuza stared resolutely ahead with a stiff expression as they continued to walk. To his side, Kira looked away, her jaw working in quiet, internal agitation. 

“That crossed a line,” Match informed her quietly, an edge of tightness in his voice.

“…Yeah,” Kira grumbled. "I’m sorry, and you’re...right." She admitted as if it hurt. "I’m…not very good at fighting head-on. Sneaking, one-on-one, trucks? Sure thing. Regular thugs aren’t a problem. But numbers are a bit of a headache and...yea. But if you think I wouldn't do it again, then you're kidding yourself."

Match opened his mouth to continue arguing, but instead let out a sharp, angry exhalation and a loud click his teeth as he shifted the worn bags hooked into the crook of one burdened elbow. Both of their tempers were flaring, and while it was vaguely fun to see Kira frizzled and composure mostly lost, he had enough of feeling like he was bashing his head against a cement wall. Additionally, they were sending the surrounding marketplace and locals into a frightened tizzy. And why were they currently storming through one Nerg’s bigger marketplaces, sending people scrambling out of the way from shear intimidation, and attracting attention by sniping scathingly sarcastic comments, liberally peppered by obscenities, at each other?

Because screw the fact that she was black, purple, blue, yellow, limping, and couldn’t see out of one eye. No, she needed to go _grocery shopping_ , so she was god damn well going grocery shopping. Unfortunately, as her ‘clientele’ grew, so did the amount of food she had to acquire. Which led to their current expedition. This was their third and final trip of the day.

The stubborn woman was carrying a heavy, wooden, box-like frame strapped to her back. She had unearthed the wooden boards and debris from somewhere to wrestle and tie into the current rough but usable shape it was in a while back, and boy did it see use. Currently, it was loaded with burlap bags piled and stacked on top of one another like worn books. Of course, the resulting weight had her hunching forward under the weight. On top of that, she had a long carrying pole over one shoulder which was forced into a matching curve under the weight of the baskets at each end. Apparently unlike her usual method of laying the pole across both shoulders to keep an eye on both out of her peripheries (and screw people who didn’t get out of her way), her recent injuries (one heavily bruised shoulder) resulted in her having to support the weight on one shoulder with one basket in front of her and one behind her. So reluctantly she had accepted Match’s offer as an escort for the day, because even if Match thought she may have wrenched something there, like hell she was going to admit it. Results were: Match silently celebrating his win and then worryingly follow Kira as she lumbered along in a decidedly ungraceful—but nevertheless doggedly determined—and plodding pace. 

Match swore that the more this woman needed help, the more she struggled to accept any.

It wasn’t the first time he’d accompany her to the marketplace (she wasn’t shy of using Match’s intimidating company to get a better price when shopping). But it said something that this was the first time that Kira had accepted help when he accompanied her, conceding the bags of groceries he had hook onto one arm and letting him keep an eye on the basket in the back she couldn’t see. So that was why he now had a sack of grain over one shoulder and the bag straps dug viciously into his elbow. The other arm, the one opposite to the hip his sword was attached to, he kept free.

“You could have gotten some of us for backup,” he muttered rebelliously Infuriating woman heard him anyways.

“There wasn’t exactly a lot of time,” she snapped back testily, because fuck it all, she just has to have the last word. “What, should I’ve sat back and waited for help and let those fuckers do whatever the hell they wanted to _my_ people. I AM the help!” She paused, and in a quieter tone mumbled, “And I am not part of the Gourmet Yakuza, Match. Even I know that I cannot so easily call for backup as if I were.”

Match didn’t answer. He already knew everything she’d just snap at him, and she knew that he knew. Of course he knew she wasn’t part of the Yakuza, however closely she worked with them as time went on. It wasn’t something he forgot. But it was something he could easily push to the back of his mind when chatting with her about business or the recent movements of the city, when she visited for tea, and when she rough-housed with his men while nagging them in equal parts, putting them in line alongside her own wards. He’d never felt resentment for her freedom to do what she will, and in fact supported it and defended her freedom of movement to others. But currently, he was feeling something close. This wasn’t her first fight, nor her first injuries. But it was _Match’s_ first time seeing such extensive damage, the first time he’d seen the results of her squaring off with trouble big, strong and violent enough that she couldn’t just brush off. Her scars spoke of more extensive and deeper wounds, of bigger troubles and fiercer enemies, but Match never could stand seeing any of his people hurt.

“No, you aren’t,” and he admitted, and hell, he felt like he was pulling out his own fingernails. “But we’re friends. So I damn well care even if you’re utterly _infuriating_. Which, with your recent stunts, makes me think we ought to put you in a nice padded room with some of our more muscular guys to make sure you don’t hurt yourself.”

“And you’re extremely vexing. Of which you need to be reminded of as often as possible to keep your pretty, blonde head from growing too big, and _you_ end up doing something that will make me _eviscerate_ you,” Kira swiped, though there was a lot less heat in it now. Exhaling through her nose, Kira huffed upwards, trying to blow a sweaty strand of hair out from her face. Noting that her free, injured arm was probably making bending her arm up a sore experience, he absentmindedly flicked the hair out of her face for her and raising an eyebrow to invite her to continue. Nodding briskly in thanks, she huffed, “Okay, truce. I’ve had enough fighting. We’re burying the hatchet in the middle of the dessert, of which we will never find the exact spot again. Let’s talk about something else.”

“Like what?” Match obliged dryly.

“Well, since we don’t seem to be giving a fuck about pleasantries or sensitivities today,” she observed neutrally, the swear hinting at how a looseness that comes with the harsh simmerings after a fight. “Childhoods. How’d you come to be in the Gourmet Yakuza?”

It was something that was bound to come up sooner or later, and with how reckless they both were with adrenaline in their systems, Match couldn’t say he didn’t see this coming. He mused offhandedly, sighing in relief with the rough, block-cement shack that was the Kitchen came into view. They were finally done with the day’s shopping. Hopefully none of Kira’s people had gone in and raided the groceries already there. For all the bickering, all their trips had been relatively quick.

He shrugged his broad shoulders the best he could and grunted, “Not much to tell. Born in this city, then abandoned early on enough not to remember who left me but old enough claw out survival. Ran with the other street rats, was picked up by Boss Ryuu. He taught me what it means to be a human and then a man, rather than a beast,” He moved ahead and opened the door for Kira to lug her load through before following after. Surveying the shed, Match saw that only some of the root vegetables had been disturbed. His appearance for the day had probably scared off all but the most desperate, and those that did appear took ingredients that didn’t need preparation. In this Gourmet Age, Kira’s Old Age ingredients were too foreign for most to know what to do with.

Piling the grain bag on top of the others in the corner, he nonchalantly hummed on even as he placed the bags in his elbow onto the counter before rubbing his arms to get the circulation going. “Actually, I tried stealing his lunch.” He chuckled at the way Kira’s eyebrows shot up in a rare expression of unbidden shock. Leaning against one of the blocks of concrete she used as a counter, Match mused. “Believe it or not. Boss was this big guy and we all knew of him. He was one of the big shots of the criminals who pushed us around. Ran the business, had the money, and had all the food. We use to talk about just what exactly we thought people like him had for lunch or dinner or any snack in between. And then…,” Match’s half-smile dropped as he stared hard into the gray unmoving stone of the opposite wall. Not even noticing Kira moving closer, he took a quiet, fortifying breathe, a little bit lost in a memory from far back. “There was a bad dry spell, even worse than the one we had a few months ago. Supplies in general ran low, everybody tightened up, IGO supplies didn’t come, and everything cost more or just wasn’t there. A lot of us kids died. The rest of us were just…feral. And then Boss came to, brought supplies over to distribute to the families and kids. He was sitting there, taking a break with a boxed lunch and he was eating so slowly. And I just hated him so, so much in that moment,” he confessed with a huff, a humorless quirk of lip. Because honestly, the dregs of adrenaline and relief combined with a small, enclosed space that was _safe_ was making him spill and share things he normally kept close to the chest. And as lighthearted as he was trying to make it sound, there really wasn’t anything easy or funny about it at all.

He continued.

“Whenever we had food, we had to eat it quick, ya know? Even when we had the time, we grew up with the fear that the food we were holding could be taken away or disappear any seconds. Needed to eat, but it made you a target to someone equally as desperate. And here’s this guy sitting out in the open, eating the most delicious and elaborate boxed lunch any of us had ever seen easy as you please. No worries someone would take it away. No worries that someone would attack him for it. And I was starving and pissed off as hell. So,” the quirk of his lips became a bit more noticeable, “when his back was turned, I snuck up and tried to take it. Before I even knew what happened, I was on my back with Boss’ foot on my chest,” Match finally turned to look towards Kira, just enough to tap the spot of his chest just below his neck. “Fought like a little monster, and he said as much. Practically suffocated myself to death. But…when I calmed down. He gave me his lunch. Wouldn’t leave me alone after that. Just kept finding me somehow, giving me food, and made me eat it in front of him as he talked me back to being a person. And the rest is history,” the blonde shrugged, his hid slightly bowed with a satisfied smile and closed eyes of a good memory. “Boss saved me and the kids still surviving. Bought me into the Group, inspired me to become something. He made me want to make a name for myself. And because of him I even became enough of a person to make some friends here and there. Gave me the opportunity to travel the world and see some damn amazing things. So I want to do him proud, maybe try to help kids who use to be in the same situation I was. Try to give them what Boss Ryuu gave me.”

Kira huffed quietly in amusement, looking at Match with a fond look and leaned against him, pressing their shoulders together. It was a strange combination of amusement, apology, and an offer of comfort. “And what exactly did Boss Ryuu give you?”

“My humanity,” he shrugged, pressing back minutely in acknowledgement. “A purpose. I was a wild, feral little beast that resented the world and everyone and thing in it. And suddenly, it was like I was suddenly conscious of other things, other aspects, of me besides the gnawing hunger. He taught me there are good things and people in the world, and that I—of all people, right?—could help make it better. Me as a person and not just some starved scrap of barely living life that barely even _wanted_ to live.” 

That last admittance caused a heaviness in the small closed space between them. The dark-haired woman pressed closer with a shuttered look on her face and Match let her. Match himself felt a bit numb, blinking unseeingly towards nothing as he rolled those words back and forth in his head. That…wasn’t something he had ever consciously acknowledged before. And it was suddenly (falling into ice-cold water suddenly) embarrassing.

Match cleared his throat, suddenly feeling uncomfortable, “What about you? You have a story.”

Her posture didn’t change nor did she stiffen, but he sensed a sudden line of tension that wasn’t there before. She moved away from him and he turned to watch her start to put away the ingredients into the multitude of hidey holes and spaces throughout the seemingly bare room. He waited patiently. Because he knew better than anyone that the people who inhabited Nerg didn’t have easy stories.

“I was a chef,” she finally replies in a flat dead way that admits to more than it doesn’t. There was a note of resignation in her words and neutrality that was more reminiscent of their earlier days of acquaintanceship. “I never had much actual training, but I’ve been cooking for as long as I remember. Then I learned some more as I traveled around as a small-time Bishokuya.”

“You were an officiated Bishokuya?” Match interrupted, as it was his turn to have one questioning eyebrow raised. “I figured the chef part, but…”

“You think? What gave it away, the knives?” Kira sniped back dryly and flashed him an amused smirk. “You said it yourself, I’m crazy for opening a charity work here. But that crazy isn’t too different from the insanity of a Bishokuya constantly going out to wrestle with the newest creature feature they’re hunting for the week.” She sombered up. “You know how it is. With chefs, there’s three main routes. You either get formal training at a school, find a mentor, or you go out and get your hands dirty. I was from a group home where I cooked for all the other kids, made their box lunches, and did side-jobs at restaurants just to help keep the place going. There just…how could I afford going to school? Where did I even have the time? ” Glancing at him over her shoulder, her tone became dry again. “To be fair, I can hold my own in the Human World, sure. But mostly I had to partner with larger groups of more experienced Bishokuya to help me get around. I was always good at going unnoticed, sneaking around and soaring under the radar. But that does not work so well when you need to take down a high-class ingredient.” Kira studied him curiously, cocking her head in thought. “You don’t seem that surprised.”

“Last time I checked,” Match smirked back. “Cooks and housewives didn’t tend to have as much muscle as you do. Not saying you’re a beefcake, but you’re obviously use to heavy menial work,” he nodded towards the groceries and the distinct muscle tone obvious on a woman who only ever seem to wear tube tops, shorts, and dusty boots. “They also don’t tend to know how to survive on a bare minimum of supplies or fight. And I’ve never met a cook or housewife with moving, shifting tattoos. But to be fair, I’ve never met anyone with moving, shifting tattoos.”

“You noticed?” she asked in the dry, sarcastic manner that spoke volumes about her opinions of him. “What took you so long?”

“I thought I was hallucinating at first,” he confessed before pushing away from where he was leaning to help put away the ingredients, tired of watching her putter around with the heavier packages. “And afterwards, I thought you’d elaborate when you felt like it. You’ve been here long enough, Kira. You know people around here don’t ask unnecessary questions.”

The stubborn women hummed in agreement as she messed around with one of the roughly made cabinets, “I’ve told you that this was an Ashera cat. I lied,” she announced bluntly, turning back towards him and waving a hand at the cat tattoo staring back at Match. “Her _name_ is Ashera, a K’rimi’ten Savannah Cat. Or more commonly known as a medium breed of the Vampire Cats that usually keep to parts of the Gourmet World. ”

Match began to ask a question before pausing, starting again he made a questioning sound. Kira chuckled as he heaved a sigh and pinched the bridged of his nose in exasperation, “I don’t even know which part of that statement I want to ask about first.”

Kira smirked back in reply, “Like a lot of the higher-ranking Gourmet creatures, they’re pretty intelligent even in the human sense. They look like one of the Old Age cat species, and their diet is relatively standard too. For a feline. I’ve only gone into the Gourmet World a total of three times. It’s…wondrous and terrible all at once, and there are things there that you can never unsee. At the same time, it makes you feel so very small and insignificant. It was a typical girl-and-her-cat story. She was about to be eaten and I stole her before the Megadong Ape could,” her lips twisted in a grimace at some private thought. “I guess that meeting was lucky. I raised and trained her, and we became partners. Thanks to her abilities I can now claim to survive when others have died.”

“Abilities?” he questioned, now genuinely curious. Because the tattoo was an actual _beast_ ; an animal and artifact from the _Gourmet World_. Ever since he started to take trips and expeditions in the name of the Gourmet Yakuza, Match had the growing urge to explore. However, Boss had made it clear that the Gourmet World was off-limits to any of his sons unless they had his express permission; something granted only after he had judged that they were strong enough to survive there.

Kira smiled, seeing the gleam in his narrow eyes. “Vampire Cats have pretty high capture levels due to how hard it’s to track and capture them. I had to sort through a lot of sources before I was able to find a credible source.” She hummed thoughtfully, brows furrowing in remembrance. “Technically, they are parasites. Hence, the name. Honestly though, through training, the bond I share with Ashera leans more towards being symbiotic. I am not a physicist by any stretch of imagination, so the best way I can describe it is that they can that can move between dimensions? That is how they hunt, feed, and hide. Normally they would look like any large, wild Old Age feline. But when they have found a new host or need to hide, they…sink? That is a good description for it. They sink into flat surfaces to avoid confrontation. Rocks, trees, walls…”

“Skin,” Match finished, eyeing the cat tattoo.

Kira nodded, “There are limitations to what kind of surface they can sink into or travel through. Though as you can imagine, it’s an effective way to carry out a sneaky killing blow when it works. It usually works out better for them if they just remain in the host’s skin, where they can absorb the nutrients and avoid predators. Though with the nutrient absorption it works in reverse as well, a failsafe for when the Cat wants to keep its host alive.”

“Useful,” Match grunted, studying the twisting feline in trepidation. Kira seemed fine, but parasite had bad connotations. “Is this why I barely ever see you eat anything other than greens, water and tea unless you come over? And what kind of limitations are you talking about here?”

“When you’re running as threadbare of a charity, it’s useful to be able to live off of less. Have some vegetables and liquids and you have pretty much covered all major nutrient bases,” she shrugged. “And well, has to be a big enough, mostly unbroken surface for one thing. Anything completely covered in scales is off-limits; trying to travel over each individual is too difficult it seems. Hair and fur does not seem to pose a problem though. However, they cannot shrink, so they need the room to move around and the space to…peel themselves off where ever. There is a reason I dress like a streetwalker and it’s certainly not so I could get eyed up by every jumped up dickhead who thinks he is tough shit.”

To demonstrate, she visibly rolled her shoulders; muscles shifting in a smooth, coordinated movement. And in that movement, it looked like she shifted her entire tattoo; the animal moving along with the motion of her muscles as if she were guiding it. That was how smooth their coordination was. Match suppressed a shudder at how unnerving it was to watch something that _looked_ like ink smoothly shift across her skin like a ghost.

“What about those others?” he nodded towards the other tattoos-probably-not-tattoos. Bats on her shoulders, lizards and mean looking rats piled on top of and over each other up both legs. They had always been realistic looking, but now he wondered if he would be able to feel fur and lizard skin if he touched. 

“Another of the Vampire Cat’s abilities,” she confirmed. “They have a venom that, through bites, they can control smaller, less intelligent prey. Nothing too complicated, and not that different than how certain types of fungi control insects. Usually, it’s a matter of getting the prey to stop running or to keep their prey with them to eat later, hence an easy way to bring food back to feed offspring. I…have found other uses. In dangerous environments, they certainly make good sacrificial scouts.” She must have seen something in his face because she snorted in amusement and tossed her head. “Yeah, my brother found it pretty unnerving as well.”

“You’re certainly feeling talkative. This is the most I’ve learned about you in the entirety of our acquaintance and I’m certainly learning all sorts of new things today. It certainly explains some things though,” Match muses as he thought back to how she handled children and his subordinates. “You have a brother.”

“Younger and not by blood. We just came from the same group home.” Kira shrugged, a wistful smile drew itself across her face. “But he was always following me around and helping me in the kitchen, preparing lunches and meals for the others. From the start, he was so sweet and showed so much potential. Did you know, he got himself an almost full scholarship to the second biggest branch of IGO’s Cooking Academy? By that point I was earning an actual income, and he only needed money for living expenses and certain school supplies. He got work at a five-star restaurant almost right after graduating.

“You have a life then,” Match concluded quietly. “In an IGO designated country. A comfortable life with family.”

“Had,” she shrugged. “I had a life. Most people don’t realize it, but even in cooking, there are certainly places you just don’t go. Not even by accident.” There was a stillness to her as she paused. “There was…an incident,” she admitted blandly, waving a hand as if to say ‘what can you do’. “Some complications. I thought…my pride got the better of me. It still does. In the end, IGO decided let my off the hook and I…worked for them, for a while. But you can guess how somethings don’t just stop haunting you. I needed to get out.” Another one-shoulder shrug as she continued organizing ingredients with her back to Match. “In the end, I decided to return to my roots. Base, cheaper ingredients and cooking for those who actually have a _need_.”

Neither said anything for a while, Match thinking while Kira turned away and started prepping. 

“What kind of complications?” Match asked neutrally after a bit of contemplative silence on his part. 

“Complications.”

“Are there people after you?”

“My own demons, certainly,” she chuffed amusedly. “But other people, probably. So yes to your implications, you infuriating man. Me being here is partially me blending in and hiding.”

“These guys that are after you,” he edged exasperatedly. His was a straightforward world where you answered the implications and the unsaid questions. “Are they the reason why you can’t go home?”

“…In part.”

“Oh?” 

“Dooooon’t even think about,” 

“What?”

Kira rolled her eyes at his try at what could be a Match-version of innocence. “You’re thinking about knocking heads and slicing people up. Which is normally none of my business; except in this, it is.”

“Fine. I’ll avoid knocking heads and slicing then,” he scoffed. “You wanna tell me who exactly is after you now?”

“I’m not stupid—“

“Recent events say otherwise.”

“I’ve seen you casually disarm a man with a broken sake bottle and make him piss himself like a broken hose,” she replied sharply with an extra thunk of her kitchen knife against the countertop, determined to bring the focus back on the subject she wanted. “I am perfectly aware you know, what, a _thousand_ other ways to incapacitate someone beside knocking heads and slicing limbs off.”

“I’m sure I can come up with a thousand and eight if I really tried,” he hummed offhandedly.

“Infuriating man,” she grumbled without heat, visibly shrugging the conversation off. She was so done with the subject.

He stood close. It was threatening, just a physical gesture that he really wanted her to listen for a goddamn moment. 

“I’m serious, Kira,” Match growled. “You have a home, family, access to normal utilities, food, and a better environment. That’s not something everybody is blessed with. Those aren’t things everybody gets. If IGO itself isn’t keeping you from that, then others sure as hell aren’t allowed to.” He rubbed a hand over his face, absentmindedly rubbing at the scars that covered his face as he exhaled hotly. “You’ve done plenty for the people here and you have friends and allies in Boss Ryuu and the Gourmet Yakuza.” In me, he almost wanted to say. But why would he, it was already implied. Instead, he continued in the ominous, deadly flat tone he usually reserved for special ‘business’, “If someone is threatening you…”

There would be blood and piss in the streets. Her hands were not clean but neither was his. But oh, did he know the longing hinted in her wistful smiles when she talked about her brother. The way she handled ingredients so carefully and her lingering touches on Gourmet ingredients. 

The people he was responsible owed her. _He_ owed her for the time she spent at his bedside; the period they really bonded through his questioning his own strength and her nagging. Match may not understand what she had done, but he had seen enough of his own people missing family that was no longer there to not feel the same stirring of protectiveness. When he finally focused on the other person in the room again he blinked at the small, bemused smile on her face as she studied him.

“You really are very sweet,” her laid-back tone was a warming combination of contemplative and fond. “People don’t usually see that, but I knew that from the beginning that you were squishy on the inside. Still…,” she mockingly patted his scarred cheek and shook her head. “I reiterate. You are an infuriating man. You don’t need to—“

“I want to,” and there was some anticipatory, sadistic relish that darkened his face.

“And I don’t want you to,” she interrupted blandly. “ _I’m_ serious, Match. Don’t butt in. My problems are something I need to deal with myself. It’s not just other people. I need to make my own atonements.” Turning away, she shrugged and continued in a neutral manner that betrayed just how grudging and reluctant her next words were. “But if you must, then as long as I stay in Nerg, I’ll come to you about anybody I can’t handle on my own from now on. Alright?”

Match perked up at this. “So you’ll finally accepting help?”

If that eye roll was any more prominent, her eye balls were going to roll right out of her head.

“I already accepted that stupid mark on my door to ward off the less most looters,” she reminded him. It had been a begrudging thing based on her preference to work in relative peace. “If you’re able to accept help finding a cat, I guess I can accept your help to fend off an exceptional dickhead or two.”

“I thought we agreed to never mention the incident with that fat bastard!”

“Noooo,” she drew out the sound carefully as if speaking to a child. Though the hint of amused _pure evil_ in her words clearly hinted that she was enjoying his suffering. “ _You_ said that we should never say anything about it again. I never agreed.”

Match blinked, clearly recalling whether this was true or not. His scowling was pretty definitive. “I hate you so much sometimes.”

Another bout of light, cackling laughter at his expense reminded the Vice-Boss why that may be a lie. Heaving a breath, she quickly stopped her laughter and started rearranging her short hair in a loose braid that tied into itself, preparing to really start cooking. Her movement drew Match’s gaze to the Ashera Cat tattoo (that, wow, not actually a tattoo) as it almost seem to slide across her skin in tandem with her movement. The jerky movements that resulted from her less than okay arm had him moving her to help her with the braiding and tucking. It wasn’t as tight or neat as it usually was, but at least it was out of the way. 

“If I’m being honest, it isn’t something that’s actually _ended_ yet,” Kira directed a rather confusing half-smile at him. “Maybe I’ll go home someday,” she commented offhandedly with a bare trace of wistfulness and an impression that it was what it was, no point in grieving about it.

And somewhere in the back of his mind, Match genuinely wanted this stubborn as a Stub Donkey woman to make her home here. 

Cruel indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, to that commenter whose Jesus comment I had removed, because really, irrelevant much. You need to go nurture whatever kind of neglected relationship you have with Jesus. Cause while Jesus may not have died so I could write my "trash", I don't think he died so you could use him as a personal validation shield to randomly bash a fanfiction based on an over-the-top manga about cooking and food. Seriously, did you even read my fanfiction or were you just commenting? 
> 
> But please, if you want to see just what kind of dark, dark places fanfiction can truly go. Comment again. I will be your personal Satan/demon/whatever-your-worst-nightmare-is guide and show you just deep the rabbit hole goes. >8D
> 
> Said offer stands open to anyone.


End file.
